Gail was wrong. I was now staring at my future through a double-paned window. Through all the years of searching for that special someone, my forever someone, there he was, alone. He was honorable and yes, I was fortunate. And he was honorable. Fortunate. Honorable. The words continued ringing and ringing and ringing until they began to sound like an actual bell ringing and ringing and ringing and…

“Girl, what’s that ringing noise?” Gail asked.

“Those are words Gail, ringing in my mind,” I replied, feeling emancipated from my racing imagination.

“In your mind?! Well, if they’re ringing in your mind, then how come I can hear them?” she replied. “Them ain’t words, that’s a doorbell.”

She was right. Snapping myself from my daze, I realized the ringing and ringing and ringing was a doorbell ringing and ringing and ringing. Glancing quickly, focusing my eyes, I watched as Graham stood, put down his portfolio, took one final sip from his coffee, and headed for the door. I ducked. After a moment, his front door swung open and in barrelled one over-zealous dog, two over-thrilled children, and one…one…one very overly lucky woman with her arms loaded with luggage.

“Who is it, girl? Who’s at the door? Montana? I know you hear me, girl.” Gail continued to call my name over and over as I waited what seemed to be an eternity for the room to clear. I had crash landed. The man that I had glorified as being first class had turned out to be a two-carry-on limit, in other words,scum.

Carefully I eased off of the trash can and headed out of the side gate, thinking all the while of my most recent mantra. In a way, a somewhat crazy kind of way, I still felt fortunate and honorable. Fortunate that I found out the truth. And honorable…honorable…well, that one’s gonna take a minute.

Chapter 4

4:00 A.M. CST
THANKSGIVING MORNING

Sorry, the flights are full.”

“We’re overbooked. Sorry.”

“I’m sorry, we just sold the last seat five minutes ago.”

Crazed and overworked, every ticketing agent delivered the same unsettling news as I desperately searched for the first flight out. Any flight out. If not a plane, maybe a train or an automobile. Right now I was willing to skateboard home if I had to. Finally, I heard my name over the intercom.

“Montana Moore, please report to the ticket counter. Montana Moore.” Rushing to the counter, I flashed my tags and headed for my gate.