Honey on Your Mind Part 24

STATUS: DEPARTED.

No!

I scanned the board for other departures to Boston. The next was in an hour, so I could jump on that one. I'd be late, but at least not disastrously so.

Still catching my breath, I decided to sit down at a bar and have a gla.s.s of wine. G.o.d knows I could use a drink right now.

I looked around and spotted a tiny bar to my left. I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and made my way there.

"What can I get you?" the cheery senior behind the taps said as I sat down on one of the three stools.

"Do you have a wine menu?"

"We have red, and we have white. We're in Penn Station, my love."

I laughed. I deserved that.

"OK, I'll have a gla.s.s of red. Thanks."

As he set a gla.s.s in front of me, I looked out at the terminal floor. Frantic pa.s.sengers rushed to and fro in every direction, everyone in a hurry to get somewhere else.

"Where you headed, love?" the old man asked.

"Boston. I missed my train, so I'm going to hop on the next one."

He raised his eyebrows. "The next one? On Christmas Eve? You sure about that?"

"I thought once you had a ticket you could jump on any train."

"If there are seats available you can, but do you know how crowded those trains are this time of year?" He gestured to the chaos outside.

I pressed my hand against my forehead. "Oh my G.o.d, I didn't even think about that." Because I am the stupidest person alive.

"You need to head over to customer service." He pointed across the room. My eyes followed and landed on an office with an open door...and a line about fifty people long snaking out of it.

I turned back at him. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Welcome to New York at the holidays, my love."

Did I mention I was the stupidest person alive? I gulped down the rest of my wine and braced myself for a long wait.

a a a I finally made it to the front of the customer service line at 4:50 p.m. I had ten minutes to catch the next train.

I handed my ticket to the woman behind the counter. "Hi, I missed the four o'clock to Boston and want to see if there's room on the next train?" Again with the statement as a question, Waverly?

She looked at the ticket and raised her eyebrows. "Are you serious?"

I cleared my throat. "Um, yes?"

She laughed. "Sweetheart, every train in and out of here is booked solid. If you want to get to Boston, your best bet is the bus."

"The bus?"

She nodded. "The bus."

"How do I take the bus?"

She pointed to the exit. "Most of them leave on the corner of Thirty-Fourth and Eighth. They leave on the hour to Boston, DC, and Philly."

"So I just stand on the corner and wait?"

She laughed. "You're not from here, are you?"

"Was it my French accent that gave me away?"

She laughed again. "You got a smart phone?"

I nodded.

"Buy a ticket online. They fill up quick, but they have departures late into the night, so you might get lucky and find one with a seat left." She wrote the names of a few bus companies on a piece of paper. "Good luck, sweetheart. Now I need to attend to the next customer." She winked, and then gestured to the man behind me to approach the counter.

"Thanks." I sighed and walked slowly back to the bar.

"Any luck?" the bartender asked.

I shook my head.

"You want another gla.s.s of wine, love?"

The shake turned into a nod. I'd already missed the five o'clock bus, so why not? I pulled out my phone and looked up the first company on the list, and then did a schedule search for New York to Boston.

Every time slot was booked.

I tried the next name.

Booked.

I tried the third name.

Booked.

Oh c.r.a.p.

I tried the fourth name.

Booked.

Holy frick.

There was one more name on the list: the Fung Wah Bus out of Chinatown. I punched in the schedule search and held my breath. I closed my eyes for a moment, and then looked back at my phone.

Seats available!

On the ten o'clock bus.

Arriving at Boston's South Station at two in the morning.

Nice.

I reluctantly bought a ticket, and after finis.h.i.+ng my wine and saying good-bye to the sympathetic bartender, I decided to return to NBC. Instead of hiking all the way back to Brooklyn, I figured I'd bring dinner to the office and hang out for a couple hours until it was time to head down to Chinatown. I called Jake on the way and told him about the delay. He said he'd set his alarm to come pick me up at the bus station.

As I walked back to NBC, I thought briefly about renting a car but decided otherwise. From the looks of the traffic snarled all around me, just navigating out of Manhattan might take several hours. Ugh. What was Jake's family going to think of me? Missing my train and showing up in the middle of the night? Way to make a good first impression, Waverly.

a a a When I got back to the office, the building was practically deserted. Except for the security guards and a few random techies from the editing department, everyone had taken off to spend Christmas Eve with friends and family. I rolled my suitcase into the kitchen and set my chicken pad Thai on the table, then opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

Just then, I heard someone moving down the hall. I quietly closed the fridge and tiptoed toward the door.

Wendy was walking slowly, alone, toward the big conference room.

What is Wendy still doing here?

The last thing I wanted to do was spend Christmas Eve with Wendy Davenport, but the big conference room had a huge flat-screen TV, and that's where I'd planned to eat my dinner.

I decided to eat in the kitchen.

After I was done, I glanced up at the clock on the wall. I still had more than two hours to kill before it was time to head down to Chinatown. I stood up and walked to the sink to refill my bottle from the tap. As I watched the water level rise, I thought about Wendy. Over the past few months, I'd gradually learned how to deal with her, even when I didn't want to. Maybe I could deal with her now? She'd been off her rocker this afternoon, but maybe she'd be in nice-Wendy mode now? Nice Wendy was actually almost fun. Crazy Wendy was, well, enough said. And I couldn't help but feel bad for anyone who was spending Christmas Eve alone. My evening hadn't exactly gone according to plan, but at least I had somewhere to go.

I left my suitcase in the kitchen and tiptoed down the hall toward the big conference room, looking left and right as I walked.

Every office was empty.

I stopped in front of the conference room door and poked my head in. Wendy was sitting alone at the huge table.

With a bottle of vodka in front of her.

The lights were on, but the TV wasn't. She held a full gla.s.s in her hand.

Before I could step away, she looked up and saw me.

"Hi, Wendy," I said softly.

She quickly glanced at the bottle, but it was obvious that I'd already seen it.

"Hi, Waverly," she said with a sigh. Her eyes were bleary.

Is she drunk?

I wasn't sure what to do, so I stood where I was.

"Are you doing OK?" I asked.

She sighed again. "I'm drunk."

I looked at the floor. OK, I guess that answers that question.

"I'm drunk a lot lately," she said quietly.

I looked up at her. What?

"You are?"

She nodded and wiped a tear from her face. "Ever since she entered the picture."

What?

"Don't tell anyone, OK?"

My mind began to race. Was she talking about Paige? If so, when did she find out?"

I sat down at the table across from her.

She refilled her gla.s.s. "Do you want some?"

I shook my head. "No thanks, I'm good." My mind began to race with questions. Have you been drunk at work before? Is that why you're so erratic? Is that why you never told me I was going to be on your show today? It had never occurred to me that she might have a drinking problem. I'd just a.s.sumed she was a b.i.t.c.h.

"You sure? No one likes to drink alone." She laughed, but it clearly wasn't funny.

I swallowed but didn't say anything.

"It would mean a lot to me if you joined me, Waverly. It's Christmas Eve, you know."

I thought about it. I'd rather drink a gla.s.s of gasoline than straight vodka, but I didn't want to upset her, so I nodded. "OK, maybe a small one."

She reached toward the cabinet behind her and pulled out another gla.s.s, then poured me a drink. I thanked her and took a sip, hoping the alcohol wouldn't burn a hole through my esophagus.

I felt like I should say something, but I had no idea what. For a moment, we sat there in awkward silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I finally asked.

She shook her head and took a huge gulp of her drink.

"Things don't always work out the way you think they will, do they," she said. It wasn't a question.

I took a tiny sip of my drink and made a face as it stung my insides.

"Do you want a mixer with that?" she asked.

"You have one?"