Sure Thing(12)

“Come on, Daisy, you can call from the bus. We’ve got to get on the road if we’re going to make it to the airport in time to pick up the first group. You know staying on schedule is key.”

“Um,” I mumble, but he’s on my heels so I find myself climbing the steps to the bus. It’s a luxury travel coach, one I’m familiar with from the time I tagged along with Daisy. I climb the additional few steps past the driver’s seat and face the empty bus before begrudgingly taking a seat in the first row. George snaps the doors closed and then buckles in, sliding a pair of sunglasses over his eyes as he maneuvers the bus out of the parking lot.

“So, Daisy,” George starts as he stops at a traffic light on Frying Pan Road.

Do I stay or do I run? I mean, running is clearly the sane choice. But how do I get out of this now? Tell George I’m not Daisy? Tell George I’m suddenly ill and ask him to pull over? I could just start running, but a glance at the cars whizzing past the window tells me that running is probably not the safest idea.

But maybe she hasn’t slept with him? Maybe they met once and he thinks he’s got a shot with her. Daisy’s a total flirt so that’s possible. But I can’t lean down and ask him how he knows my sister, can I? Since he thinks I am my sister. Jesus.

“Daisy?” George calls again but he doesn’t get any further than that before I snap to attention and realize I’ve got less than ten minutes until we reach the airport. Less than ten minutes to figure out how to make this work, because I’m not a runner. I’m a pleaser. I’m a make-it-work kind of girl.

Also the thought of letting anyone down makes me want to throw up. I might like to strangle Daisy right now but I still don’t want to let her down.

“I’ve got to make that call,” I announce and stand up, gripping the handle on the seat edge for support. “It’s private,” I add as I take off down the narrow aisle to the back of the bus, already having hit redial with my thumb.

“Did you chicken out already?” Daisy asks as soon as the call connects. “It’s been five minutes, Vi. Five minutes. This is not complicated. You stand by luggage carousel number one and hold up the Sutton Travel clipboard. The tour group passengers will find you. You check them off your list and send them out to the—”

“Daisy,” I snap, cutting her off. “That’s not why I’m calling. We have a problem.”

“What’s that, Violet?” she responds, but she doesn’t sound worried. She never does. I’ve always sort of imagined that I came out of the womb with a skeptical frown while she followed a minute later with a high-five to the doctor. That we share the same DNA astounds me. Yet I can’t imagine life without her.

“They didn’t send Tom. They sent George,” I tell her, my voice low. Not that I think George can hear me from this distance, but you can never be too cautious. “And George definitely knows you. He said he switched to get this route because of you.”

“Huh,” she replies after a moment of silence. “Well.”

“Well?” I repeat, exasperated. “Elaborate, Daisy. I can see the airport from here. I don’t have much time. How well do you know this guy?”

“I’m thinking. Which George is it?”

I take the phone away from my ear for a moment to stare at it in disbelief. “I’m guessing it’s the George you know biblically, based on the way he was looking at me,” I say, rolling my eyes and returning the phone to my ear.

“Right,” she says, drawing the word out.

It takes me all of two seconds to work that out.

“You’ve slept with two bus drivers named George?” I hiss. “Who does that?”

“Probably a lot of girls,” she replies, her tone unbothered. “The Georges are hot. And don’t slut-shame me, Violet, you know it’s ineffective.”

“Obviously,” I respond drily.

“Anyway,” Daisy drawls, “which George is it? The hot one or the hot funny one?”

“How could I possibly know that, Daisy? I met him five minutes ago.”

“Hmm, true. I guess it doesn’t really matter which George it is. Just don’t sleep with him. That would be weird.”

“You think?” I reply sarcastically. We never ever date the same guys. We’re close, but not that close. “What am I working with here, Daisy? Is either George in love with you? Do you have a pet name I’m gonna have to answer to? Will I have to break his heart?”

“No.” She laughs and it comes out like a snort. “Neither George is in love with me,” she says. “Definitely not,” she adds and it sounds slightly sad.