A Right Divine Mission
Iwatchthe sheets of photo paper inch their way out of the printer. I’m at the print shop I’ve visited so many times they know me byname.
“More advertisements?” asks Raymond, the shop’s grey-haired owner, who can be found manning the front desk more often thannot.
“Nope,” I answer. “This time it’s personalstuff.”
“Glad to hear you’re back at it,” he says. “It had been ages since we’d seen you, when you came in to print thoseads.”
“Yeah,” I reply, as I watch Christina’s mane of hair edge its way out of the printer. “It’s good to be shootingagain.”
Raymond leaves me to it, and a quarter of an hour later I’ve got a folder filled with a half dozen shots of Christina taken during our lingerie session. I walk out of the store and get in my car, punching Christina’s address into my phone and following the directions to getthere.
I spent the night at my parents’ place after talking to my mom, and most of the next day working on the photos. It took me several hours just to decide on which ones to use. I needed to find shots that showed not only the truth of who Christina is, but of how I feel about her. I needed pictures that would make anyone who looked at them feel breathless at the sight of her smile, feel their chests tighten with awe, feel a need to touch her so strong they’d have to reach out and press their fingertips to thepage.
I know that’s how I felt when I took them. I just hope she’ll see ittoo.
The buzzer inside her building’s front door rings for so long I’m about to turn and walk away. I knew there was only a slim chance she’d be here in the middle of the day anyways, but I still feel disappointment start to weigh medown.
I go to take my finger off the buzzer when the line crackles and a muffled voice starts to issue from thespeaker.
“Olá?”
“Uh,Olá,” I answer. “Is Christinathere?”
“No, she— Stop it, Nicholas!” There’s some giggling and then the voice continues. “Chrissy is at the airport now.” The giggling startsagain.
“The airport?” I repeat. “Where’s shegoing?”
“To Portugal! Oh,sim!”
There’s some overtly sexual moaning and then the buzzer cutsoff.
Shit.
I don’t know why, but the fact that I probably won’t catch her in time fuels me with the need to do just that. I sprint back to my car and slam the door shut, having to remind myself to stay within non-life-threatening proximity of the speed limit as I take off towards the highway and then out of the city in the direction of theairport.
She never mentioned going to Portugal. I wonder if it was planned already or if this is a last minute thing. If she got the job with P&T she wouldn’t be heading off on vacation right away. I feel an almost physical discomfort at being in the dark about so much of what’s going on with her rightnow.
The airport parking lot is so full I have to leave my car what feels like miles away from the building. I jog the whole way to the entrance and burst through the doors, half expecting her to be standing rightthere.
She’s not. I spot a huge board displaying all the upcoming flights and walk closer, scanning for anything going to Portugal. My knowledge of Portuguese city names is limited, but as far as I can tell there’s only one. The board says it leaves for Lisbon in just under an hour. That means she must already be through security, assuming she’s got a direct flight and isn’t leaving on some connectionfirst.
Just to be sure, I rush over to the railing that gives me a view of the lower level, where people line up to get access to the gates. A trail of passengers weaves through maze-like barricades up to the doors that will lead them to the metal detectors. I can make out enough of their features to be pretty sure Christina isn’t there, but I call out her name just to check. Several heads whip around at the sound of my shout, but none of them arehers.
This is the point where a sane person would give up. I could head back to the car and wait for her to get back from her trip. At most she’ll be gone for a few weeks; I know she’s got summer courses comingup.
Then again, I thought she’d be working for P&T right now. I have no actual idea what’s going on with her. For all I know, she could have decided to take a semester off and be gone for months. She could have dropped out completely. The thought of her giving up on school is ridiculous, but I tell myself it’s not impossible. This could be my lastchance.
I turn around and march up to one of the check-in desks, grateful that there’s no line at themoment.
“The flight to Lisbon,” I say, “is it fullybooked?”
I just need something to get me through the gates, but I figure if I miss her before boarding, it can’t hurt to have a ticket that will get me onto theplane.
“Hoping for anextralast minute deal?” jokes the woman behind the desk. I just nod, rocking on the balls of my feet. “Hmm, I’ll pull it up. Let’s see...There’s three seats left in economy. We had acancellation.”
“Great. I’ll take one,” I blurt out before she’s even finishedspeaking.
