Read Online Blood Bond (Anna Strong Chronicles #9) by Jeanne C. Stein - Free Book Online
Authors: Jeanne C. Stein
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by a yellow-vested member of the ground crew who in turn is greeted by the pilots, first off. A customs agent comes on board, checks our passports and wishes us a pleasant stay.
I wish it were so.
Then the pilots supervise the unloading of the bags. John-John, Frey and I deplane to a beautiful, soft-breezed spring day, the cloudless sky the color of the Mediterranean. John-John is all big eyes and breathless excitement. I let Frey take him ahead to the terminal while I give instructions for the bags to be taken inside, tip the baggage handler, make sure the pilots have my parents’ telephone number and slip envelopes with some spending money to my crew.
One of the first things I learned upon deciding to accept responsibility for an airplane was that having a crew ready and eager to fly for you is essential. Paying them well is a budget stretcher, but it’s worth it at times like this.
I leave them on the tarmac to see to the jet and follow John-John and Frey into the terminal. My father is picking us up at ten. We have thirty minutes to wait. I make a quick stop at a kiosk just inside the door to exchange dollars for euros then look around for John-John and Frey.
John-John and Frey are seated in the small restaurant area. Everything gleams in the sunlight. It pours through big plate-glass windows that muffle engine noise but reflect with quiet brilliance from the stainless-steel podiums and stair rails and walls. John-John has a cup of hot chocolate in front of him, Frey an espresso.
He pulls out a chair for me to sit. “Want anything?”
I shake my head. “Not now. Thanks. Dad will be here to pick us up at ten.”
I say it like it’s the reason for not wanting coffee, but now that there are no more decisions to be made—travel plans, the packing, the calls back and forth to let my dad know when we’d arrive—my stomach clenches like a fist. I’ve managed to push away thoughts of what I’m going to hear from Dad about Mom’s condition by focusing on getting here. We’re here. Dad will be arriving any moment. I can’t keep those thoughts from intruding any longer.
John-John slurps up the rest of his chocolate. He is sober-faced when he leans toward me. “I’m glad you let us come with you,” he says. “Daddy and I will help.”
He has picked up the timbre of my thoughts. I feel tears sting. “You and your daddy have already helped,” I say. “Just by being with me.” I put my arms around his shoulders. “And I know you’re going to love my parents’ home. It’s perfect for a young boy. Lots of room to run. Lots of trees to climb.”
I release a breath. “And wait until you meet my dad and mom. And Trish. They’re going to love you as much as I do.”
I hear my name paged and my heart jumps. Time to go. The three of us walk through the stone-tiled passenger terminal to a concierge desk. I’m told my dad is outside at the waiting area. My luggage is in a cart beside the door.
I hold John-John’s hand in my right, Frey’s in my left and we step into the sunshine.
CHAPTER 8
M Y FATHER IS WAITING RIGHT OUTSIDE THE TERMINAL door in his classic 1971 Citroën. The white, zeppelin-shaped car was included with everything else when my parents
inherited
the vineyard and estate from a long-lost relative.
Read “long-lost” as “imaginary.” Avery, again. But it gave my parents and niece a refuge, kept them safe from any fallout that might be directed their way because of my vampire existence. That it turned out so well is a constant source of relief to me.
But now, seeing him standing by the car, face gaunt with worry, I feel none of that relief. We’ve had to travel so far to get here. If they were still in San Diego . . .
Dad approaches. He’s trying to smile. I think for the benefit of the little boy at my side.
John-John is looking at the car. “That’s a funny-looking car,” he says with the perspicuity of youth.
Dad kneels to eye level and holds out a hand. “It is.
I wish it were so.
Then the pilots supervise the unloading of the bags. John-John, Frey and I deplane to a beautiful, soft-breezed spring day, the cloudless sky the color of the Mediterranean. John-John is all big eyes and breathless excitement. I let Frey take him ahead to the terminal while I give instructions for the bags to be taken inside, tip the baggage handler, make sure the pilots have my parents’ telephone number and slip envelopes with some spending money to my crew.
One of the first things I learned upon deciding to accept responsibility for an airplane was that having a crew ready and eager to fly for you is essential. Paying them well is a budget stretcher, but it’s worth it at times like this.
I leave them on the tarmac to see to the jet and follow John-John and Frey into the terminal. My father is picking us up at ten. We have thirty minutes to wait. I make a quick stop at a kiosk just inside the door to exchange dollars for euros then look around for John-John and Frey.
John-John and Frey are seated in the small restaurant area. Everything gleams in the sunlight. It pours through big plate-glass windows that muffle engine noise but reflect with quiet brilliance from the stainless-steel podiums and stair rails and walls. John-John has a cup of hot chocolate in front of him, Frey an espresso.
He pulls out a chair for me to sit. “Want anything?”
I shake my head. “Not now. Thanks. Dad will be here to pick us up at ten.”
I say it like it’s the reason for not wanting coffee, but now that there are no more decisions to be made—travel plans, the packing, the calls back and forth to let my dad know when we’d arrive—my stomach clenches like a fist. I’ve managed to push away thoughts of what I’m going to hear from Dad about Mom’s condition by focusing on getting here. We’re here. Dad will be arriving any moment. I can’t keep those thoughts from intruding any longer.
John-John slurps up the rest of his chocolate. He is sober-faced when he leans toward me. “I’m glad you let us come with you,” he says. “Daddy and I will help.”
He has picked up the timbre of my thoughts. I feel tears sting. “You and your daddy have already helped,” I say. “Just by being with me.” I put my arms around his shoulders. “And I know you’re going to love my parents’ home. It’s perfect for a young boy. Lots of room to run. Lots of trees to climb.”
I release a breath. “And wait until you meet my dad and mom. And Trish. They’re going to love you as much as I do.”
I hear my name paged and my heart jumps. Time to go. The three of us walk through the stone-tiled passenger terminal to a concierge desk. I’m told my dad is outside at the waiting area. My luggage is in a cart beside the door.
I hold John-John’s hand in my right, Frey’s in my left and we step into the sunshine.
CHAPTER 8
M Y FATHER IS WAITING RIGHT OUTSIDE THE TERMINAL door in his classic 1971 Citroën. The white, zeppelin-shaped car was included with everything else when my parents
inherited
the vineyard and estate from a long-lost relative.
Read “long-lost” as “imaginary.” Avery, again. But it gave my parents and niece a refuge, kept them safe from any fallout that might be directed their way because of my vampire existence. That it turned out so well is a constant source of relief to me.
But now, seeing him standing by the car, face gaunt with worry, I feel none of that relief. We’ve had to travel so far to get here. If they were still in San Diego . . .
Dad approaches. He’s trying to smile. I think for the benefit of the little boy at my side.
John-John is looking at the car. “That’s a funny-looking car,” he says with the perspicuity of youth.
Dad kneels to eye level and holds out a hand. “It is.
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