Her eyes, which behind a curtain of lush, black lashes and expensive makeup looked eerily lonely, drifting from floor to ceiling and out the window beside her. Wheels slid across the linoleum, trailing behind bodies of those who were oblivious to everything and everyone around them. Each face on each body told a different story.
A hearty man with a wiry, grey beard that dangled from his red face looked as if he was nervous. His eyes darted back and forth then back down to his feet. This cycle repeated a few more times before his large, shaky hands dug around in a zipper pocket of his suitcase and he pulled out a little orange bottle with a childproof cap. His fat fingers fumbled with the cap and shook a few white pills into his hand—possibly a few too many. Xanax, she assumed, though she was too far from the man to read the label.
A toddler with tight, orange, Shirley Temple-curls sat on her father’s shoulders. Her freckles matched his, as did her big, blue-green eyes. He held her tiny pink backpack in the same hand that pulled his large red suitcase. With his other hand, he kept a firm grip on her little, pink-sneakered-foot. The girl laughed and patted on her daddy’s head, occasionally trying to cover his eyes with soft, chubby hands. Love was plastered on the young father's face and it beamed through his crooked smile.
Ida's heart fluttered at this image, she thought of playing peek-a-boo with her nephew. She thought of the smile that would spread across his chubby cheeks, the two-toothed-grin, and brown-Bambi-eyes that sent warmth from her heart through her abdomen.
Ida loves babies. But, George already has two children, grown of course, and he doesn’t want anymore. She knew the downsides of marrying an older man, especially one who had already been married. And divorced. Twice.
But George was a charmer at first. He had a twinkle in his eyes, one she learned came out when he saw something, or someone, that he wanted. His eyes were incredible. When he’s happy, they are silk. A soft, welcoming blue, a blanket wrapped around a newborn son. When he’s angry, they turn to ice. Bone-chilling, spine-tingling ice.
She gazed up at him now, he towered over her at a perfect 6’4. His arms were tan and toned, his hair salt and pepper, thick and soft. He was a stunning man of 48.
“Can’t you walk any faster?” his voice was sharp, impatient, and cold like his eyes.
She opened her mouth to retaliate, and then remembered that they had a three-hour flight ahead. Better not to start a fight. Instead, she apologized and pumped her sore legs a little bit harder.
Ida had always been short. She hit five feet around the time of her Quinceañera and hadn’t grown an inch within the ten years leading up to this day.
Finally they were seated, in first class, and waiting for an announcement to put on their seat belts. Ida looked at her husband with eyes searching for the man that used to lie in bed with her talking of forever love, searching for the man who promised endless kisses. She gazed at him with lost, mossy eyes that he had once called captivating.
He dropped his stare, which was currently focused on the flight attendant’s ass, to look down at her. The gleam in his blue eyes seemed to cool as he said, “Do you want something?”
She wanted so badly to scream, “YOU! I want YOU!” but the annoyed tone in his voice made her fear rejection. She shook her head no and looked at her hands, cold in her lap, and fiddled with her wedding band.
She was lost, counting the tiny sapphires that lined her white-gold ring, when the voice over the radio perkily told them to fasten their seat belts, and soon enough they began to lift off. She closed her eyes and prepared for her ears to pop as they hit turbulence. The plane shook back and forth reminding her of an old wooden roller coaster she had hated as a child. As with this flight, she was bullied into riding that roller coaster.
As the plane broke the barrier, her thoughts came tumbling out. She thought of her childhood. Her father. His anger. His infidelity. Her husband. His eyes. His eyes on other women. She thought of his voice. Gentle. Harsh. Angry. Apologetic. Frustrated. Loving. Spiteful. Silent. Heart-achingly silent.
He was silent now, reading an article on his tablet. She looked at him again, praying this time that his eyes would lock on her own mossy green eyes. And she would know. She would know that she’d made a good choice marrying this roller coaster of a man. His eyes would melt, reminding her of the warm blue waters on their honeymoon. She would know that he loved her the way he did the day he proposed.
His gaze remained on the screen, looking focused on the article. She watched as he dragged his tanned finger up the screen and thought of those fingers trailing the small of her back, tracing the length of her spine.
Ida decided to tempt fate, to test his forever love one more time. She placed her hand gently over his. She had almost forgotten how small and delicate her hands looked against his. When he didn't jerk away, she interlocked their fingers and gave a light squeeze.
Brilliant blue eyes, flicked over to the hands intertwined in his lap, and his eyes panned over to take in the unappreciated beauty radiating in the seat next to him. Her eyes caught his and there was a storm brewing behind long, dark lashes and jade irises. He knew that she deserved someone better than him. But he was far too selfish to ever let her go.
