Chapter 16
On Saturday morning, Paige began to pack in earnest for the trip, since it was now only a week away. She’d bought a large, lightweight duffel bag that met the dimensions required. She’d never been in a really small plane, and she was curious what a Cessna Caravan looked like. Paige got online and started reading about them, and then reading about their use in Africa, and then reading about the accidents.
It didn’t take long for Paige to wish she’d never gone down this rabbit hole of research. There had been eight small plane accidents since 1980, and in most cases, everyone onboard died. In virtually every case the plane was filled with tourists, international travelers like her and the Orange students. She shot Elizabeth a text with a screen shot of the statistics. This is not good, Paige typed.
She didn’t hear back from Elizabeth right away and tried to distract herself by repacking the lime-green duffel, lightening it up. She didn’t need three pairs of walking shoes, or two swimsuits. Her long, soft cotton skirts were thin and took up little space. She re-counted her tops and T-shirts: she had three of each. She needed something for the evenings if it grew cold. Long sleeves to protect from mosquitos. Long pants for the same reason. Something if it rained. A pair of hiking pants. Another pair, just in case. Socks, underwear, a belt, a small pack for hikes and exploration. It didn’t look like enough clothes, but she was sure Jack would think she had way too much. Paige reassured herself that there would be a place to do laundry. She’d ask Jack, just to be on the safe side, as she hadn’t seen anything about it on the Center’s website.
Paige’s phone rang. It was Elizabeth. “You saw my text?” she demanded.
“You’ll be fine,” Elizabeth soothed.
“Those little planes crash all the time,” Paige protested, pushing the duffel over so she could lie down, stretch out. “And when they crash, everybody dies. What if we don’t make it? What if we all die? I keep trying to stay positive, but this trip is dangerous.”
“Life is dangerous. Walking across the street is dangerous. Taking a flight to San Francisco is dangerous. Going to the mall is dangerous. Driving in your car is dangerous, especially here in Southern California. Road rage—”
“I hear you, and road rage is real. But I’ve never deliberately sought out danger, stared it in the face.”
“I looked up those statistics you sent me. There hasn’t been an aircraft fatality in years. Five years, I think—”
“Exactly. Every five years there seems to be an accident and everyone dies.”
“You really need to run the numbers, Paige. You’re a data girl. Look at the data. Millions and millions of people fly through Tanzania every year. There are very few accidents, and even fewer fatalities. From what I gathered, you’re safer flying there than here with our overcrowded airports and overworked air traffic controllers. If you need me to do some research for you, I can.”
“No.” Paige closed her eyes. “I should probably avoid reading about accidents and air travel. It’s making me panic.”
“You are going far away, but you’re going to be okay, and the students will be okay. Then, before you know it, you’ll be back with amazing stories. I can’t wait to see your pictures; I can’t wait to hear about your adventures. You might have to even start using your Instagram again and post photos so I don’t have to wait weeks for updates.”
“I’m going to email you all the time. The Wi-Fi is free.”
“Paige, even if you went nowhere, life is still out of our control. You know that. We just like to think we’re in control. But all it takes is one of our moms taking a fall, or one of our kids getting hurt, and we realize control is an illusion.”
“You’re the only one who knows how anxious I get. Or how much I struggle.”
“It’s our secret. You make me look good, and I make you look good, and we’ll do that until the day we die—” Elizabeth broke off, snorted. “Sorry, didn’t mean to mention death again. Anyway, you know what I mean.”
Paige smiled grimly. She did. “I wish you were going. It would be a lot more fun if you were on this trip. I’d have a friend.”
“You have Jack. He’s your friend, and he’s more. He’ll do things with you I won’t do.”
“That’s the signal it’s time to change the subject. What can I bring for Thanksgiving? Haven’t heard you agonizing over your menu yet this year.”
“Bite your tongue! I do not agonize. I’m a planner, and doing the family favorites, and maybe a different sweet potato casserole. Last year’s was just too sweet, even cutting the sugar in half.”
Paige hadn’t had any so she couldn’t comment on that. “Is your mom still coming?”
“Yes, Margot Hughes is driving her. Do you remember her?”
“The girl who was a couple years younger than us? The one your mom swore would be a Broadway star?”
Elizabeth sighed. “Yes. But don’t bring that up. Margot’s left New York behind and is still sensitive about it, I think.”
“I get it. I have a Margot at home. Can we also agree not to mention musicals, theatre, or Lin-Manuel?”
“It will be hard, but I’ll do my best,” Elizabeth teased. “Oh, and Andi McDermott, she accepted my invitation.”
“Oh, I’m glad. I had no idea she spent Thanksgiving alone the past few years until she mentioned it last week. I always thought she spent it with her stepson.”
“I’ve also told your Jack to bring his son. Have you met Oliver yet?”
“My Jack?”
Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Is he yours now?”
Paige went warm, cheeks suddenly hot. “I just meant, the Jack I teach with.”
“And sleep with.”
“We don’t sleep together—” Paige broke off, pursed her lips, corrected. “Well, we’ve slept together, but we haven’t done it.”
“Why not?”
Paige didn’t answer. Besides, Elizabeth already knew.
“Paige, freak out about jets crashing and mambas dropping from trees. Don’t freak out about sex. Sex is fun.”
“Not for me.”