The next day, as the limo driver piled the teal-blue suitcases on the curb in front of Delta Airlines, Grace Meredith squinted at the sheet of paper she was holding—just as a gust of wind tore it out of her gloved hands. “Oh, no! That’s my e-ticket! Catch it! Catch it!”
The uniformed driver shoved the last suitcase on top of the pile and darted after the paper as it skittered across the three slushy lanes of traffic trying to unload at Memphis International Airport. Tires skidded as the driver stiff-armed a taxi, which managed to stop just inches from running him down. It happened so fast, Grace hardly had time to cry out—but by the time she realized the man was safe and looked back to see where the wind had taken her flight itinerary … it was gone.
Just then the pile of suitcases on the curb toppled over, splaying over the sidewalk and earning her nasty looks from other passengers heading for the sliding doors into the terminal.
Grace stood rigid on the curb, clutching her wool coat tightly around her neck. Could anything else go wrong this horrible weekend? First, Roger’s devastating phone call. Then Samantha had suddenly disappeared, right in the middle of the concert. Her assistant had to know she was a wreck, especially at the end of a grueling concert tour. She—
Good grief, what’s the matter with you, Grace? You’ve let yourself get mighty spoiled, that’s what. The note said the girl’s mother had a heart attack, for pity’s sake! But it didn’t help that her throat was sore, her head ached, she’d slept badly again—if at all—and having to do everything herself this morning had made her late. She had less than an hour to get through security and make her plane!
“I’m sorry, miss. Couldn’t catch it.” The limo driver had reappeared and was snatching the wayward bags out of harm’s way. “You want me to get a cart”—he glanced nervously at the limo, motor running at the curb—“or do you want to do curbside check-in?” He gestured hopefully toward the Delta employees in the small enclosure nearby. “It’s faster.”
“Yes, yes, curbside, please. I’m late as it is. But my e-ticket …” Anxiety threatened to bring the tears to the surface again.
“Don’t worry, miss. They can pull it up on the computer. Just give them your name and destination.”
Scurrying back and forth, the limo driver managed to get the two large and two smaller bags to the curbside check-in. “That’s it. They’ll take care of you.”
“Thank you.” Grace pulled her carry-on out of the line of bags. It had her medicines, toiletries, jewelry … had to keep that with her. She glanced at her watch—only fifty minutes till her plane was supposed to leave! But just that simple glance made her wince. The delicate silver watch with the tiny ruby birthstone had been a birthday gift from Roger, matching the silver engagement ring on her finger …
She suddenly realized the limo driver was still standing there.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. The tip. Samantha always took care of that too. You’ve become a spoiled brat, you know that, Grace Meredith? Fumbling in her large leather purse, she opened her wallet. Nothing smaller than a twenty. She handed one of the bills to him.
“Thank you, miss! Have a good trip.” Touching his hat briefly, the man hurried back to the limo, got in, and pulled away.
Grace watched him go.
Now she had nobody.
“Miss? Miss? Do you have your ticket?” The curbside agent beckoned to her. And just like the driver had said, when she explained about the lost e-ticket, he simply looked her up on the computer, and in five minutes had all three of the checked bags on a cart tagged for Chicago. He handed her a boarding pass. Another tip. At least she didn’t have to pay extra for the bags—first-class passengers were allowed three checked bags free. Thank God for small favors, like free upgrades thanks to frequent flyer miles. And once she got on the plane, maybe she could sleep a little. She might even drink a glass of complimentary wine to help her relax—one benefit of traveling without Sam, who no doubt would give her a disapproving look.
Grace headed through the doors, welcoming the blast of heated air as she came into the terminal. Was January always this cold in Memphis? She’d been there two days and it felt no different than Chicago. Glancing at her boarding pass—Concourse B, Gate 12—she surveyed the bewildering array of signs. There … that way.
A disembodied voice announced over the PA, “The security level today is Orange.” It was always Orange. Pulling the carry-on, Grace followed the line snaking its way back and forth toward security. Why was it going so slow? Her anxiety mounted again. Forty minutes now … thirty-five … thirty … finally! She hefted her carry-on bag onto the conveyer belt, shrugged off her heavy winter coat and loaded it into a plastic bin along with her purse, zipped off her knee-high leather boots and threw them into another bin. Ugh! She hated walking on dirty airport floors in just her stocking feet. But she lined up the bins on the conveyer belt and watched the first one follow her carry-on into the scanner.
“Next!”
A Transportation Security Administration agent was waving impatiently at her. That’s when Grace noticed that it wasn’t the usual walk-through metal detector, but one of those new body-scan machines. She’d seen pictures—it was like you were stark naked! Grace froze.
“Lady? You going through or not?” said the passenger in line behind her.
Grace gave her head a quick shake and stepped back, letting the man pass. No, no … she didn’t want to have her picture taken stark naked. That was … so invasive! She glanced up and down the other security lines. They were even longer than the one she’d been in. If she went to the back of the line, she’d surely miss her plane! And her bag and personal belongings had already disappeared behind the rubber flaps of the conveyer belt.
“Uh, sir? Sir?” She stepped closer to the agent instructing people stepping into the scanner. “I … I don’t want to go through that machine. Is there an alternative? My plane is going to leave in less than half an hour—”
“Opt out!” he called out loudly. “We have an opt out here!” He unhooked the retractable belt divider and beckoned to her to step around the scanner.
Relieved, Grace hurried around the machine. But her relief was short-lived when another agent met her and motioned toward a glass enclosure. “Excuse me, miss. Step this way, please.” The voice was gravelly, no nonsense.
Grace looked up into small gray eyes and a reddish face. The TSA agent was big and burly, the buttons straining on the shirt that covered his belly. “What … what is this?”
“Standard procedure. You opt out, we need to do a physical check.” The man took her arm and firmly led her toward a glass enclosure.
“But … my purse, my shoes …” Grace twisted her head and pointed back toward the scanner, which had burped out the two plastic bins with her things in them, along with the bags and bins of the people who’d been behind her.
“Someone will hold them for you. This way, please.”
His grip was firm on her arm until she’d stepped inside the glass enclosure, then he left her alone. Glancing anxiously through the walls of the small enclosure, Grace saw another agent pawing through her suitcase—and a moment later he held up a pair of small scissors. “Sharp instrument,” he called out before tossing them into a bin with other confiscated items.
Was that it? Samantha always brought a whole kit of miscellaneous items for every little emergency on tour: scissors, tweezers, nail clippers, bandages, foot pads, needles, thread, safety pins, markers, sticky notes, even matches—which, she supposed, her assistant usually packed in the checked luggage. Grace had thrown the kit in the carry-on that morning, “just in case” she needed something, not thinking about security restrictions.
She stepped toward the opening of the glass enclosure. “I can ex—”
“Lady, you need to wait.” The burly agent appeared from somewhere and planted himself in her way. “Stand on those footprints.”
“But—”
“On the yellow footprints, miss. And don’t move. Someone will be with you shortly.”
What? How dare they treat anyone like this! And for what silly reason? She felt like shouting, “Just take the kit! Whatever! I don’t care! Just let me go so I can make my plane!”
Did she dare look at her watch? She was afraid to move. But out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a large wall clock. Fifteen minutes! She’d never make it now!
“Body search in Unit Two!” the man yelled. “Female opt out!”
Body search? Were they talking about her? What did they mean? O God, O God, I don’t like this.
“But … I’m going to miss my plane,” she protested weakly to the man outside the enclosure.
“Look. You gotta wait for a female agent. Sorry.”
“How long will that take?”
“No idea.”
“But my flight’s about to leave!”
She looked around, but no one else seemed to be coming. The man made a show of looking around too. Then he gave her a look that lingered a bit long.
“Fine. I’ll get you to your plane on time.” The man reached for a box and removed a pair of latex gloves, pulling them on with a snap.
But she winced as he stepped into the glass enclosure. Too close, too close.
“Okay, Miss, I’m going to pat down the breast area, then—”
“My breasts?” Grace felt heat rise to her face. “That’s … that’s not necessary.”
“You want to make your plane? No talking. Now …”
Grace felt a firm hand on one shoulder, and then the other running fingers around first one breast, then the other. “Arms out to the side!” the agent said. Grace obeyed, but her breath was coming hard and fast. An old memory resurrected in her mind … that unwanted touch … panic bubbled in her chest.
She turned her head away—and saw people in the line staring at her. No one had a right to touch her like that! Not then … not now! She’d made a vow …
The agent’s hands ran down her sides from armpit to waist, then around to her back, down her spine, along her ribs.
“Spread your legs,” the man commanded from behind her.
Grace started to shake. She squeezed her eyes shut. Hot tears gathered behind her lids. No, no! This couldn’t be happening! She never should have allowed this!
Just then she heard another voice. “Walker! Stop.”
Female. Grace cracked her eyelids. A black woman, hair pulled back tight into a knot at the nape of her neck, stood in the doorway of the enclosure, hands on her hips.
“Lady said she was in a hurry, has to catch her plane.” The gravelly voice.
“Are you serious, Walker? Do you know how much trouble you’re in right now?” the woman snapped. “I’ll take over now.”
The man shrugged, and eased his gut out of the doorway, and the woman stepped in. “Sorry about that, miss.”
But it was too late. By now Grace was shaking almost uncontrollably. Hot tears blurred her vision. She put out a hand, feeling for the glass wall, trying to steady herself as the woman completed the pat down, up and down her legs, even her hips and crotch area.
“You may step out,” the woman said.
Grace felt faint. The tears spilled down her cheeks. The glass wall seemed to tilt. She tried to take a step, but the next moment she crumpled to the floor, right on top of the yellow footprints, gasping for breath as loud, uncontrolled sobs shook her whole body.
Never! Never! She’d made a vow she’d never let anyone touch her like that … ever again!