Catalina stared out the car window, grateful for the much-needed peace in the car. For the last half hour, Chelsea had refused to shut up, and now the silence was a blessing. Beside her, in the back seat, Catalina saw that her sister had finally slumped to one side, exhausted, most likely, by her own incessant chattering.
“Finally,” muttered Mr. Scott from the driver’s side. “A little peace and quiet.”
Mrs. Scott chided him gently. “Hey,” she scolded, “I remember when you were worse than that, Adam.”
“Well, excuse me!”
They all started laughing, and Chelsea sighed and rolled over in the backseat.
“Shh,” Catalina shushed them. “We don’t want Chelsea waking up again. I was just getting used to this.”
Mr. Scott nodded in mock graveness. “The eleventh commandment,” he commented. “Thou shalt not wake thy siblings.”
“Especially the ones that scream ‘Are we there yet?’ the entire time!” laughed Catalina, trying to calm herself down again. She brought her voice back to a loud whisper. “Okay, okay,” she said, as much to calm her own nerves as her parents’. “We can’t be getting too excited. I mean, this is just another trip. It’s not like we’ve never traveled anywhere before.”
But Catalina’s father wasn’t yet done with his fun. “Aw, Mom...” he whined like a child.
Playing along, Catalina took on an air of mock sternness and said, “Now not another word, young man, do you hear me?”
“Yes’m,” he responded in a small, chastised voice. But then, just loudly enough for Catalina to hear, he whispered to his wife, “That old nag.”
Catalina laughed, then quickly stifled the giggles as Chelsea stirred again. “What was that, Adam?” she demanded, for the first time calling him by his first name.
“Cat?” Chelsea mumbled in her sleep.
Catalina jerked sharply and stared at her sister. She could feel her parents holding their breaths right along with her. Please, she prayed, not again. Don’t make me face it again. But thankfully, it must have just been a dream, because the girl was soon fast asleep again, once again rolling to face the window.
“We should be getting there in about ten minutes anyway,” commented Mrs. Scott. “Do you want to get your stuff packed up, honey?”
“What stuff?” Catalina said, a disgusted look on her face. “All of this is Chelsea’s.” She motioned to the assorted coloring books and crayons scattered across the backseat. Her carry-on bag was still neatly packed and laying at her feet in the car.
“Do we want to wake her up so she can get packed?” Catalina wondered aloud.
Sighing, Mr. Scott nodded. “As much as I hate to say it, I think we should. Go on, Kit, wake her up.”
Catalina winced and, tentatively, as if her sister might bite, she reached towards her and poked her ever so gently in the side.
Instantly, Chelsea was up. “Are we there yet?” were the first words out of her mouth. The other three groaned.
“No, dear,” Mrs. Scott said. “Now, come on, why don’t you get your things packed? We’re going to be there soon.”
Chelsea pouted and stuck out her lower lip. “No.”
“Chelsea.”
It was all her father had to say before Chelsea was packing - reluctantly, but nevertheless, the crayons and books were going back into the backpack. Since her father was not afraid to punish Chelsea for disobedience, it was always he whom she obeyed. She envied her sister, who could almost always get out of trouble, just by being his favorite.
Not that being a mother’s girl didn’t help sometimes, either. She liked knowing that her mother would always fix her special dinners on her special nights, regardless of whether Catalina wanted something else or not. In a way, Mrs. Scott actually felt sorry for her daughter, that her father wasn’t the same father he was to Catalina. He never mistreated either of them, but he was somehow partial to their elder daughter.
When they finally arrived at the airport, the Scott family got out and checked in and sent their bags to customs. They kept their carry-ons. After that, it was just a lot of boring waiting. Chelsea tugged at her mother’s arm. “Mommy, when are we going to get on the plane?” she said, already whining.
Catalina rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Here we go again,” she muttered. They’d taken Chelsea on only one other trip - a shorter one last summer to Florida. She’d whined and complained the entire time they were waiting for the plane, until, at last, her mother had found a deck of cards in a gift shop and had taught her how to play War.
“Chelsea,” commented her father, attempting to divert the child, “maybe you and your mother could play War again.”
Chelsea grimaced. “Not that old game,” she said testily. “I hate cards. They’re so boring.”
“Hey,” Catalina protested, “that’s just your opinion. You just don’t know any of the good games. I could teach you Speed. That’s a two-player game, and it’s really cool.”
Chelsea considered her sister’s offer for a moment, then nodded gravely. “Okay,” she said. “Teach me. But if I don’t like it, I’m not ever going to play it again.”
Catalina sighed. She knew what it would take to keep her sister happy with a game - letting her win. “Okay,” she agreed. Regretfully, she pulled a deck of cards from her bag and dealt out the game, explaining it as she did. Five draw piles, two face-down cards on the ends, and the rest of the deck divided evenly among the two players.
“Attention to all passengers. Flight 487 will begin boarding shortly. Please have your carry-on items ready. Thank you.”
The announcement came over the intercom, and Catalina, feeling slightly relieved that she wouldn’t have to teach her bratty sister a game she’d be sure to hate unless Catalina sort of cheated anyway, she packed up the cards. “Another time, then,” she said to her sister. Chelsea shrugged. Maybe she’ll end up forgetting, Catalina thought to herself, more a wish than anything else. I could still be spared.
They boarded the plane with little problems, except that Chelsea wanted to sit in the very first seats she came to, and her father had to explain to her that they had to find their own designated seats in their own designated row - not the first available ones.
“Daddy,” Chelsea said, “why are there more seats back there than up here?” she whined. “I want more seats up here, too.”
Catalina rolled her eyes. “That’s the coach class, Chels,” she said. “We’ve got more room up here, see? Wouldn’t you rather have a nice, big, padded seat?”
Chelsea nodded. “I suppose so.” She glanced back at the coach class area. “Then what are we?”
Catalina cleared her throat. To say first class might spark a certain type of conceit in her little sister, the last thing she wanted to happen. “We’re...we’re in a different class. They’re in coach, we’re in the non-coach.”
“Oh.” Chelsea fiddled with a button on her shirt. “Mommy,” she said, “I want my CD player.”
“Not yet, sweetie,” Mrs. Scott said gently. “We have to wait until we’re up in the air. If we use CD players, the plane couldn’t take off.”
“Why?” asked Chelsea.
“You have too many questions,” an exasperated Catalina remarked.
“Now, Catalina,” scolded her mother. “Chelsea has good, intelligent questions. See, Chelsea, the players mess up the plane’s piloting systems, so it can’t take off or land while they’re playing.”
Chelsea already looked as if she was getting uninterested - though, to Catalina, that was not really surprising. Chelsea’s mind flicked from one subject to another as easily as a switch from on to off. With a last glance at her sister and mother in the aisle next to her, she pulled out one of her books and buried her nose in it. She, too, would have to wait until the plane took off to listen to any music. Next to her, Erica, who had not said a thing the entire trip, flipped open a magazine and began to read.
The plan actually wasn’t to ride this plane all the way to Jamaica. Her father had a private plane that he’d be taking when they switched flights. At least then Chelsea wouldn’t complain as much, she hoped. On their plane, she’d be able to find more things to amuse her. She hoped.
In no time at all, it seemed, they were disembarking. Outside the airport, a black limousine was sitting in front to escort them to where the plane would be waiting. Mr. Scott had only decided not to take it all the way because he rather liked the commercial airliners, and he liked the company on them. There wasn’t a flight went by that he didn’t make some new acquaintance on the airplane ride.
“Are we going to have those packages of peanuts on the private jet?” asked Catalina jokingly. Mr. Scott turned and made a face at his daughter, and she laughed. “Too bad,” she said, putting on a false British accent that sounded surprisingly authentic, considering the fact she’d never been to England or anywhere where the people had British accents in her life. “I had grown rather fond of them.”
Mr. Scott laughed. His daughter never ceased to amuse him, with her high spirits and snappy comebacks at some of the oddest moments. It all comes from growing up with me, he thought, as he himself had grown up in a house where humor was commonplace, and he had soon learned that, to survive with a certain amount of dignity, he’d have to learn to have some witty one-liners of his own. His daughter had been the object of most of his teasing, and she, as he had, learned the tricks of the trade, and now she was swapping lines with the best of them at school - who, at her school anyway, were all male. They’d been extremely surprised to find that she deserved to become a member of their “group,” but were thoroughly amused by her fresh outlook on the whole scene - the feminine side of things. In all honesty, it was good for them, to have someone representing the opposite gender there.
They rode along in general peace and calm, and Catalina managed to teach her sister the game of Speed, letting her win two games, and then she really beat her badly at the third. By that time, she’d gotten sick of pretending to lose, and not only that, she’d gotten extremely fed up with the smug look her sister wore, that self-satisfied smile on her face. So, to prove something to her sister, even though she knew it was wrong, Catalina had to redeem herself. Besides, Chelsea had to realize that she wasn’t the best at everything she did, and that things she touched didn’t immediately turn to gold, as she often imagined. She pouted for several minutes after that, but Catalina wasn’t going to give in. She didn’t challenge Chelsea to another game, nor did Chelsea bring up the matter. They retreated into silence again, and Catalina put on a CD.
Hours later, Catalina awoke. She realized that her CD player was still playing, and she shut it off. Her cheek was cold from being pressed against the window, and there were lines down it too, she was sure. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she looked around her. Chelsea was still sound asleep, and her mother was humming to herself and crocheting an afghan. Erica was still sleeping.
“Mom? Where are we? How long did I sleep?” Catalina peered out the window, but all she could see was gray. Obviously, they’d hit a foggy area. They were forced to fly through it.
“Hi, Cat,” she greeted her daughter. “You’ve been sleeping for a while now. We aren’t sure if we’re going to make it to Jamaica right away. We’re flying into some bad weather, and we might have to make an emergency landing if it gets too bad.”
Catalina glanced over at her sister. “How long’s Chels been asleep?”
“She went to sleep just a few minutes after you did.” Catalina leaned back in her chair. She was still exhausted. And so, once again, she let the peacefulness of slumber engulf her, and she sank into its dark depths once more.
“Whoa! Geez, what was that?” Catalina shot up like an arrow at the sudden jolt. She barely had time to wonder again how long she’d slept, before her mother was at her side, her expression grim, her eyes anxious. “What’s up, Mom?” Catalina asked nervously, glancing out the window. Rain poured down it, obscuring the view beyond. She looked at the seat beside her, where Erica was supposed to be sitting.
“She went to the bathroom,” Mrs. Scott said. “And I’m not sure yet,” she added. “I was just going to go check.”
“M-Mommy?”
Chelsea’s scared, timid voice came from the other side of the plane, and Catalina glanced over, to find her sister huddled up in her seat, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them.
“Take care of your sister for me,” commanded Mrs. Scott. “I have to go talk to your father.” She stood up and made her way up to the cockpit. Mr. Scott had had lessons in piloting, and he almost always was the pilot on their excursions.
“What’s going on, Cat?” asked Chelsea, beginning to cry. “Are we going to crash and die?”
Catalina unbuckled her seatbelt, her body tensing as she did so. She wasn’t in a hurry to be relieved of the small comfort it provided her. To be up, not strapped in by anything, set her on tenterhooks.
“Of course not,” she assured her sister, kneeling beside her. She began to pack up Chelsea’s bags. Somehow, she got the feeling that the emergency landing her mother had been warning about was about to become a reality, and she wanted to be ready. “We might be landing in a little bit, though, just so we don’t crash,” she said. “Okay? There’s nothing to be scared about.” Yeah, right, she told herself. Just tell yourself that. Buttterflies were flitting around like mad in her stomach, and they refused to alight. She swallowed hard, hoping her sister hadn’t noticed, and zipped up the bag. “There,” she said to Chelsea. “Now you’ll be all ready in case we need to land somewhere.” With that, she plopped down into the seat next to her sister. She didn’t want to leave her alone, nor did she fancy the idea of just kind of floating around without some sort of restraint on. She buckled up, and checked Chelsea’s buckle to be sure it was tight enough.
Mrs. Scott made her way back into the passenger area. “We’re going to be landing soon,” she sighed. “Everyone buckled in?” She glanced back and checked both of her children’s straps. To Catalina, she murmured, “This isn’t going to be fun.” Catalina nodded, and pulled her belt a little tighter still. She kept glancing past Chelsea out the window, but there was nothing there to see. Just the endless gray expanse of the sky, and the rain pouring down against the window - which basically made anything else that might be seen invisible.
After a time, Catalina remembered something. “Mom,” she said, “you never told me - where are we? Where are we going to land, I mean? On Jamaica?”
Mrs. Scott shook her head. “The jolting you felt was us. This storm’s really blown us off course. We can’t be far from Jamaica, but we’re not sure if we’re going to land where we want to or not.”
Catalina sighed. She started to say something, but the plane suddenly began rocking violently. “Turbulence,” her mother called over the noise of the wind and Chelsea’s sudden screams. “Chelsea, Chelsea, it’s all right,” she said. “Come on now. Shh. We’re going to be okay, really.” She swiveled in her seat as best she could with her seatbelt fastened and tried to comfort her little daughter.
Catalina herself just closed her eyes and prayed for it all to be over.
