The rest of my day had taken my complete concentration in order not to miss my connecting flight. For someone who had never flown before the Atlanta airport was confusing. I stopped to ask for help three times before I figured out that I needed to get on this indoor train thing and go from letter A to letter C. Then look for gate 19.
I was fed on my flight from Atlanta to New York and even given a real cloth napkin for my lap. The glass with my soda in it was real, not plastic, like I had imagined. When I went to the restroom I realized there was a curtain separating my small section of the plane with the rest of the passengers. Looking around at the suits and laptops surrounding me I realized this wasn’t the normal part of the plane. Hale had put me in a special section.
My flowered sundress and sandals, which felt pretty yesterday as I spent hours deciding what to wear, now felt as if they were bought from a thrift store. They hadn’t been. I bought them on sale at the local department store last year and was, as recently as before I boarded this plane, quite proud of them.
By the time I arrived at JFK airport I was mentally exhausted from thinking too much. I felt alone and scared. However, while stepping off the plane and making my way to the baggage claim by following the signs, excitement began to grow with each second. I was doing it. I was in New York.
Tonight, at this very moment, I would’ve been in Moulton listening to the same gossip I always heard. I wouldn’t be getting up in the morning and going to the bakery. No more canning this summer. No tripping to the lake with the people from my childhood who had known me since I could remember. That was finished. I was here. It was happening.
My life was going to be in full color. Change was happening now and I was present for the change.
A man holding a sign with my name on it, like Felicity said he would be, was waiting on me near the baggage. He was in a black suit and tie, his head bald and he stood amongst a sea of men dressed the same way as I entered the baggage claim area. Her directions had been easy to follow. I was thankful for the paper in my purse. Appreciative of her instructions. Their step-by-step delivery.
I walked up to the man and smiled. “I’m Sam Knox,” I told him. The fact my sign hadn’t said Sammy Jo didn’t surprise me. Hale didn’t call me that. Or at least he had stopped. He preferred to shorten it.
The older man smiled. “Welcome to New York,” he replied, placing the sign under his arm. “Let’s get your luggage shall we.”
I followed him until he stopped at a carousel with luggage moving on it. We passed three before he halted. I was trying to figure out how he knew which one my luggage would arrive on. The one thing I was sure he didn’t know was which piece of luggage was mine. So I turned my attention to the moving bags until I spotted my piece. “There’s mine,” I said, stepping up to get it.
“I’ll get that miss,” he replied, moving in front of me and picking the bag up as he came by.
That was nice of him. My momma would approve. We might not be in the south, but so far I didn’t see a difference in the people here. They were all very helpful and nice.
“Thank you,” I told him.
He smiled. “Of course. Follow me.”
He carried my suitcase toward the exit doors and I did as he said. The air was warm. It was summer, but being from the south I assumed it never got this hot up north. I realized I was incorrect. The sun was beaming down and I was thankful for my sundress. We didn’t walk far before he stopped beside a black sedan that was sleek and expensive looking. I watched as he opened the back door and waved his hand at me with a smile. “Please make yourself comfortable. The water in the cup holder is chilled and the mints are also for your enjoyment.”
I felt like I was on the plane again. Being catered to. This was not something I was accustomed to hearing or receiving except in dreams or hallucinations, after drinking too much punch. And since I was being hired as a housekeeper it seemed odd I would be traveling this way.
“Thank you,” I paused, realizing I didn’t even know his name. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I got your name.”
He looked like he might chuckle, but instead he replied “Williams. Miss, you can call me Williams.”
That was an odd first name. I then returned his smile. “Thank you Williams. You’ve made my arrival here very easy and welcoming.”
“My pleasure, miss.”
I liked Williams. He would do well in Moulton. Not that he’d ever want to leave the excitement of New York for Moulton, but still, I could see him there. He was a helpful, nice and considerate man and I didn’t at all feel like the big city would murder or rape me, which a lot of small town people often do.
I climbed inside and picked up the water bottle that was shaped in an odd square. The ice cold plastic felt good after a walk in the heat and I opened it and took a long drink. I didn’t reach for a mint, instead watching out the window as Williams got into the driver’s seat and we began to move. The airport parking lot was new and amazing with hundreds of people bustling about and I wondered if anyone famous was close without me noticing.
“It’s a thirty minute drive in the traffic. This time of the day it is. I’ll have you to the penthouse as soon as I can and I apologize for the delay.”
“Okay,” I replied. “Lordy, you’re precious. I ain’t special in the least.” I was happy to be able to just sit back and take it all in in gulps. The streets were what you’d expect, busy and pulsing with life. It was almost fifteen minutes before we went through a tunnel, emerging into what I imagined New York City would look like.