She nods to herself then tucks the notebook away before asking the group to pull the tiny radio-controlled boxes from the seat pockets in front of each seat. After handing each guest a set of cheap disposable earbuds, she runs the group through testing the headset. The boxes operate on a simple on/off switch and volume dial so that lesson goes quickly. We’ll use them as we walk and the local guide narrates via the headsets.
Once that’s all sorted Daisy’s shoulders relax as she turns on a promotional video on the overhead monitors and drops into the empty row of seats directly above and behind the driver. I’m five rows behind her so I can’t hear her sigh, but I imagine she does. Is she nervous about this tour or about me? Neither makes much sense. Both intrigue me.
“Jennings, would you mind if I sat in the empty seat next to Vilma?” Nan breaks into my thoughts and gestures to her new friends. “It’ll be easier for us to chat.”
“Not at all. I think I’ll go up and join the guide. I’ve got a few questions for her.”
“Oh, great idea, you do that!” Nan readily agrees, patting my knee just as she did when I was a boy. “I’m so thrilled you’ve taken such an interest in the tour.”
So am I. But I don’t think it’s in the way she’s thinking.
Daisy’s in the window seat, so she doesn’t have a chance to object when I slide into the empty aisle seat next to her. Her head snaps up from a notebook clutched in her hand, her expression turning into a scowl when she sees me.
“You can’t sit there,” she says.
“I think that I can,” I respond, unbothered by her sass. I slide my arm over the headrest behind her and lean into her ear. “Are you this rude to all the tour guests or just the ones you’ve slept with?”
Her mouth drops open and her eyes widen in shock before she recovers.
“Just you,” she states, narrowing her eyes at me before returning her attention to the notebook in her hand. She quickly snaps it shut and holds it on her lap, her fingers curled around the edge.
“What have you got there?” I nod to the notebook. In my mind it’s a journal, filled with dirty thoughts about me.
“Nothing. Just notes about the trip,” she says with a shrug.
“Ah.” I nod. The dirty notes were a long shot but still, I’m disappointed. “How long have you been a tour guide, Daisy?”
“Uh, a few years,” she says, but she won’t look at me.
“A few?”
“Yeah, a few. How about you? How long have you been mooching vacations off of your grandmother?”
“Mooching? What a brilliant word. I assume it’s an American term for getting a handout?”
“It is,” she confirms, unabashed.
I grin. “Well, I have been the apple of Nan’s eye since the day I was born.”
“Yeah, okay,” she agrees in a tone riddled with sarcasm.
“So what do you need the notes for? If you’ve been doing this a few years it should be old hat by now, shouldn’t it?”
“It’s a new tour,” she responds.
“Is it?”
She glances at me before quickly looking out the window. “Newish,” she replies with a shrug. “For me,” she adds.
She’s evasive about the oddest things, which only serves to intrigue me more.
When we reach the outskirts of the National Mall the bus stops and the group disembarks while Daisy confers with the local guide. George stays with the coach, which suits me fine. I still don’t like him.
Daisy does yet another head count, then ensures everyone has their headset on and can hear. The guide takes off while delivering her spiel on the history of the Washington Monument. I watch the guests follow along for a few minutes while Daisy lags at the rear of the group, making sure she doesn’t lose anyone. Nan’s group has positioned themselves near the front, keeping a careful eye on the local guide, headset boxes clutched in hands. There’s a couple from Scotland with professional-looking camera equipment snapping pictures every few feet while the majority of the group just use their mobile phones.
I pull the earbuds off and shove them into my pocket along with the radio box.
“What are you doing?” She stops walking and looks at me suspiciously.
“I’m more interested in observing you than the tour,” I tell her with a wink.
She groans.
I smile.
“Do you have a job, Jennings?” She squares her shoulders and looks at me as if she’ll be able to assess the truthfulness of my answer.
“I do.” I nod.
“Do you live with your mother?”
“I do not.” I shake my head once and bite back a smile.