I added a rather improbable 24,600 words to the WIP this week (now called MAN FOR THE MOMENT… for the moment), and I’m heading into the home stretch of character-torturing before giving them the happy ending they deserve. Meanwhile, I can say with pride that I’m a real author, because I’ve shot a character, and it was even more fun than I expected.
This week’s snippet, wherein Katie negotiates the moving sidewalk at the airport, goes out to everyone who’s ever had to fly with a toddler.
———
Whoever had invented the moving walkway was an asshole.
And no way had he had children. No one whod ever had or even known a child would be stupid enough to take the rugrat-luring Staircase of Danger that was the escalator, flatten it out, and stick it in every airport in the country.
You are approaching the end of the moving walkway. Please watch your step when exiting.
She picked Kurt up and lifted him over the transition between walkway and carpet. He didnt have the balance to figure out how to get on or off the thing, but all hed wanted to do since they arrived at the gate was ride it over and over again. On one end, off the other, straight back on, with much giggling and running and alternately blocking strangers paths and plowing straight into them. It was chaos in transportation form.
Last time, buddy, she said, doing a U-turn and catching his hand just in time to help him back on the belt.
Why?
Because our flights going to board soon. She glanced over at the spot by the window where shed left the stroller. Kurts diaper bag and her own carry-on were slung over her shoulder, weighing her down and forcing her to lumber around like an unbalanced elephant. Her shoulders were killing her, but you werent really allowed to abandon your stuff at the gate these days. Regular announcements over the loudspeaker kept reminding her of that fact.
Slow down, she called. Wait for me before you get off. She started to jog, because Kurt wasnt waiting, and she didnt want him to fall face-down onto the ridged steel plate at the end of the walk. She was hoping to deliver him for his role as joint ring-bearer free of facial cuts or bruises, though maybe that was asking too much.
You are approaching the end of the moving walkway. Please watch your step when exiting.
Again, Kurt said as soon as she picked him up. He arched his back and commenced kicking his legs and wiggling, an expert in the arts of catch-and-release.
Sorry, kiddo. That was it. Lets go see if we can Ow!
One of his flailing legs connected with her thigh, and she had to take a deep breath and bite her tongue to keep from saying something shed regret later. The past few days, her stores of maternal patience were perpetually approaching empty.
Considering she had two flights with an almost certainly nap-boycotting toddler to survive all on her own, this was going to be a problem.
She closed her eyes and conjured up Jamaica. Heat. A swimming pool. The unknown but certainly kind young women of the Kids Club, who would soon take Kurt off her hands and entertain him for hours at a time while she lay in the shade and soaked up the sun and however many piña coladas and strawberry daiquiris it took to not think about
You n-need some help?
Him. To not think about him.
