Chapter 36 Take Pete with You Back to Your Place
Pete stirred, cheek still pressed against Andrew’s thigh. Eyelids fluttered, parted halfway. “We’re at the airport?” His voice came out thick, groggy, one small fist rubbing at his eye.
“Yes we are.” Andrew shifted carefully, sliding Pete upright so his back rested against the seat instead of his lap. He smoothed the boy’s rumpled blue T-shirt with one palm. “There you go.”
Andrew lifted his head, catching the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Thanks, man.”
“You’re very welcome, sir.” The driver’s smile was quick, professional. He tilted his head slightly. “Can you please give me a five-star rating?”
“Sure thing.” Andrew already had his phone out, thumb swiping through the app. Tap, tap, five gold stars glowed on the screen. “It’s done, man.”
“Thank you so much.” The driver’s shoulders eased visibly, grin widening.
“It’s nothing. You did well. You deserved it.”
Andrew reached for the door handle. Amelia slid the opposite door open first, gold sandals touching pavement. Pete scrambled after her, Darth Vader action figure clutched tight. Andrew stepped out last, stretching his long frame with a soft crack of his spine.
The driver hopped out too, popping the trunk. Bags came out in quick succession— two large hard-shells to Andrew, the carry-on to Amelia, the smaller roller to the driver who wheeled it over. Everything stacked neatly on the curb.
“Safe journeys,” the driver said, hand extended.
Andrew shook it firmly. “Thank you.”
The driver climbed back in, engine purred to life, and the van slipped away into the flow of traffic.
Andrew bent, grabbed the handles of the two largest bags. “Alright, people. Terminal 2E. Let’s move.”
Pete skipped ahead a step, then fell in beside Amelia, small hand finding hers. Amelia’s wine-red gown caught the breeze, fabric whispering against her legs as they crossed the busy drop-off lane toward the glass doors.
Inside the terminal, the air changed— cooler, drier, laced with coffee, perfume samples, and the metallic tang of jet fuel that somehow seeped through every vent. Overhead signs glowed in blue and white. Announcements rolled in three languages.
They joined the first-class check-in line— short, efficient. A uniformed agent smiled, scanned passports, printed boarding passes with a crisp zzzzip of thermal paper.
“Mr. Lock, Ms. Bridge, young Master Lock— welcome. Bags to drop?”
Andrew slid the two largest forward. Amelia added hers. Pete proudly pushed his tiny roller suitcase until the agent took it with a wink.
Security was next. Andrew lifted Pete onto the belt first— shoes off, Darth Vader placed carefully in a tray. Pete watched wide-eyed as his toy disappeared into the X-ray machine. Amelia slipped off her gold sandals, stepped through the scanner with arms raised, gown pooling elegantly at her feet. Andrew followed, broad shoulders barely clearing the frame.
Cleared. Shoes back on. Bags collected. They moved through the terminal’s gleaming corridors— past luxury boutiques, champagne bars, a wall of windows showing taxiing planes like silver whales.
At the first-class lounge, they paused only long enough for Pete to press his nose to the glass and point at a massive Airbus A380 rolling past. “That one’s ours?”
“Not quite, champ. Ours is a 787. Sleeker.”
An hour later the gate announcement crackled overhead: “First-class passengers for New York JFK, flight AF 12, now boarding at Gate K46.”
They rose together. Pete bounced on his toes. Amelia smoothed her dress one last time. Andrew steered them down the jet bridge, boarding pass in hand.
The cabin smelled of fresh leather, warm bread, and faint citrus from the hot towels already waiting. First-class seats— wide, cream leather pods— formed a private aisle of six. Andrew took the window seat on the right, Amelia beside him in the center pod, Pete across the aisle in his own pod by the other window. Flight attendants greeted them by name, handed menus, offered pre-departure champagne (orange juice for Pete).
Seats reclined with a soft whir. Seat belts clicked. Pete kicked his legs, already exploring the touchscreen entertainment system. “Dad, they have Star Wars!”
“Save it for after takeoff, bud.”
The safety video played— silent, elegant. Engines spooled up. The plane taxied, turned, paused. Then thrust pressed them back. Tires left the ground with a gentle thump. Paris shrank below— sprawling grey, green patches, the Seine a silver thread— then clouds swallowed everything.
Two hours in, cabin lights dimmed to twilight blue. Pete had curled against the window, Darth Vader tucked under his chin, fast asleep, small mouth open, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm.
Andrew turned his head toward Amelia. She was sipping water, legs crossed, gown pooled around her thighs.
He kept his voice low, almost a murmur. “After the plane touches down in New York, I’ll return home to Maggie. I want you to take Pete with you back to your place.”