#panpervinca

Jack had Race on his hip as he rushed into work. “Jack, you’re late!“ The young man groaned, setting his toddler on the counter and wrapping his apron around his waist as his boss rounded the corner and sighed at the sight of the little boy on the top of the bar. “Oh, no, no, no, no —“

“He’s fine, I’ll put him in a booth, you won’t even know he’s here,” Jack insisted as he turned to the old man beside him.

“This is not daycare, James,” the man insisted.

“So give me a raise so I can take him to daycare, Wiesel!” Jack snapped. “His uncle is sick, his grandma is out of town, I don’t have anyone ta watch him, he’ll be quiet and he’ll color, it’ll be fine.” Jack wasn’t actually too sure of that fact. His son has been a bit rowdy lately and Jack had been trying like everything to get a promotion at this place and at Jacobi’s place and Tyler hated it when Jack wasn’t paying attention to him at all moments of the day.

The old man beside him shook his head. “He makes a fuss, you better be ready to get your things and get out,” he growled before leaving.

Jack scowled, resisting the urge to reach out and strangle the man. He put his black hat on backwards and sighed. “Lottie! My section’s open!” he called to the host up front who nodded as she frantically rearranged some menus and waitlists on her tablet. The dinner rush was coming and Jack was not excited about it. So he scooped up his son who whined.

“Daddy, I don’ wanna be here,” the four year old complained, his hands rolling into the collar of Jack’s shirt.

“Yeah, well, neither does Daddy,” Jack shot back, taking a coloring book and a box of crayons out for his baby boy. “Hey, look at me and tell me you're listening.”

The child looked up with those big blue eyes and sighed, his little fingers reaching for the crayons. “I’m listening,” he insisted dramatically.

It made Jack smile. “Good boy,” he said. “Hey, dad’s gonna be workin’ all night. That means I’m gonna be with other people talkin’. You understand that?”

The little boy nodded. “I understand, Da’,” he stated, sounding a bit annoyed.

“That’s good,” Jack said, cupping his little boy’s cheek. “I need you to sit here until I come get you, okay? You stay right here and color your pictures. Don’t talk ta anyone, don’t wander around, don’t yell for me, you stay here. Repeat it back to me.”

“Stay here,” Race repeated, sounding sad already. Jack knew this was gonna be a rough night.

The young man kissed his son’s head. “Good boy,” he smiled. “If you need me just wave at me, okay?” His son nodded. So Jack reluctantly stood and walked over to his first table. “Hi there, what can I get for you?”

And so the night began.

—

Jack was sweating now. He had two oversized parties, a sensitive group of soccer moms in a booth, three teenagers who all had fake IDs and a loud group of basketball fans at the bar. “Jack! Table 14s chicken salad, Jalapeño burger and onion rings out!”

Jack rushed over to the trays and loaded them up. “Got it! Can I get a fry refill for 22?” he called, not waiting for an answer as he rushed back to his tables. “Alright, we have our food here,” he stated, serving the soccer moms at the moment. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“No thank you,” one of the women said, shooing Jack away and Jack turned to a brand new table of men about twice his age.

“Hi there, I’m gonna be your server this evening, can I get you started with some drinks?” he asked with a fake smile on his face.

One of the men looked Jack up and down. “Not what I was expecting, but you’ll do…” he smiled. “Look, here’s how tonight is gonna work.” The old man took out a wad of cash. “I am going to leave this right here on the table for you. This is your tip. But anytime we have to ask for anything, or you get something wrong, I will take a dollar away. Understand?“

Jack’s jaw clenched a bit. This right here was demeaning, a dumb power trip. But god, that must’ve been two hundred dollars. He needed that money. Tyler needed that money. “Yeah, I think I understand the concept,” he said. “So can I get you some drinks?”

The man smirked at him, nodding as they ordered some drinks and their food with a lot of altercations all at once. Jack just threw his notepad down in the back and growled a bit. “You okay, Kelly?”

Jack just rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m doing just brilliantly, Corey, just peachy,” he drawled sarcastically.

That’s when he heard it.

There was a crash. And then a little boy began to scream. Jack’s eyes widened. He cursed under his breath, and rushed out of the kitchen to the booth his son had been in. “Tyler?!” he cried. One of the runners was standing mortified as Race curled up at their feet, covered in soda and chili fries. Jack rushed to him and scooped him up. “Hey, hey,” he breathed. “Ty, are you alright?” he asked as the child sobbed on his shoulder. “Huh?” he asked again.

The boy shook his head. “I wanna go home!” he insisted. “You said you don’ wanna be here!”

Jack was mortified. The entire restaurant was staring at them now. He bit his lip, sniffling and looking up at the runner. “It’s not your fault,” he promised.

The runner shook their head. “I am so sorry.“

“Kelly,” someone said behind Jack.

Jack bit his lip. “Look, Wiesel, it was just one little mess, I’ll clean it up —“

The old man scowled at him as Jack turned around and he held out his hand. So Jack fought back the tears that threatened to fall. He looked around and in front of the entire place, he sniffled, shakily taking off his apron and clearing his throat as he grabbed his backpack and began to walk out.

“How unprofessional…”

“Where’s the mother?”

“God, that poor baby.”

Jack tried to ignore all the whispers as he began his long trek home, his baby covered in chili fries and root beer. He wrapped his coat around Race’s thin frame. “Don’t worry, baby, I got you. I’ll get us through this, huh?” he murmured just as the boy fell asleep on his shoulder. Jack kissed his baby’s head as he sniffled, wondering how on earth he was going to feed the boy tomorrow, much less pay rent next month.

Working for an airline would never get Salvia anywhere in her life – at least, that’s what her family always told her. In their eyes, she could have (should have, even) done a million other things. She could have been a lawyer, a doctor. An astronaut, even, if she had just put her mind to it. She could have gone into politics, though her grandfather had looked her right in the eye and said very seriously that if she became a politician, he would find the clue to immortality so that he could tell her off for it.

But no.

No, Salvia hadn’t precisely had the luxury of choosing. Finding a job after she was done with her studies was rather akin to hoping to scuba-dive to the bottom of the Mariana trench. When she’d gotten the offer of a job working at the ticket counter for an airline, she’d quite frankly jumped onto the possibility, leapt onto that train before it could leave and never looked back.

It wasn’t easy. It absolutely wasn’t. But it was worth it. It was a job, it paid the bills, and it wasn’t too far from home. The hours could be hell, she hated the uniform and hated how her boss had taken one look at her the one day she didn’t wear makeup and said she couldn’t show herself to customers like that. But it was worth it, to keep the apartment. To avoid having to move in with her parents again.

Then, of course, there were the days, the little moments, that made everything even more than worth it.

 It hadn’t been an overly busy day. Flights came and left, of course, but there were few people at the counter, and Salvia could breathe easily and could focus on other aspects of her work for a while. So when an old man, perhaps in his late seventies or early eighties, approached the counter and said he had a question that needed answering, she didn’t think twice about it.

He was rather tall, she noted – taller than her, at the very least, though she came from a family filled with people under five feet and six inches. But this old man, broad-shouldered and without a back bent by his age, had to be pushing six feet. His hair was white as snow, though she could spy a few streaks of a faded copper red here and there, and his eyes were a brilliant green that seemed to stand out a little from his olive complexion.

“I’m supposed to meet someone who came with the last flight from Spain,” he explained. “From Barcelona – the flight number was BA475? But the plane landed an hour ago, and he didn’t show up. Do you keep records of passengers on various flights? I just need to know if he was on it and I missed him somehow…”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Salvia answered, giving the old man a kind smile, “but I’m not allowed to give out that kind of information, sir.”

If he had looked somewhat worried before, it was nothing to how his expression fell now.

“I understand. Thank you, either way.” He smiled back at her, though it fell quite some miles short of being anywhere near cheerful; if anything, he looked almost like a kicked puppy. “I’ll go and have a look near the baggage-claim area, maybe he’s there…”

Maybe it was his expression. Maybe it was simply that he was an old man who shouldn’t have to be waiting for someone like this. Whatever it was, Salvia couldn’t just let him walk away like this without at least trying to find some other way to help.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, could you tell me what happened?” Curious though she was, she kept it from her tone. Knowing the background, she thought, would only help her make a better decision. “Were you supposed to pick them up, maybe?”

Though she had perhaps expected him to decline to answer and walk away, she was pleasantly surprised; he did indeed stop, and some measure of joy crept back into his expression when he looked back at her and smiled again.

Happiness, Salvia decided, absolutely suited him better.

“I fell in love,” the old man sighed, and something in his tone had Salvia’s own heart fluttering wildly in her chest. “That’s the gist of it. But well, see, it’s the circumstances that are a bit odd. But I don’t want to keep you from your work, miss, you’ve better things to do than to listen to an old man babble about such things.”

“It’s a really quiet day,” Salvia shot back. “And it’s not like I’m here all alone. Please, I’d like to help somehow, and maybe if I know the circumstances I can think of something. Please?”

Throwing a somehow doubtful glance at her co-worker, busy helping another customer, the old man took the few steps back to the counter.

“If you’re certain,” he said slowly. “Just… Do tell me if you’ve had enough, I know I can start to drag on at times.”

It took several promises to convince the old man that it was quite alright and that she would absolutely tell him if it grew too longwinded. But soon enough, he was telling her everything that had happened, and it sounded to Salvia’s eyes almost like a modern fairy-tale.

“See, I’ve known this man for some time already,” he explained. “My eldest daughter – I have twelve children, she’s number nine – she’s just married this man’s eldest son, and they married in Canada, of all places. Canada! I don’t understand why they chose that, really, though I’d wager it’s my daughter insisting on it. Anyway, I’ve been to visit them, and so had he, and we happened to be on the same flight back and had managed to get connecting flights through Spain. Odd choice, I know, but last minute booking and all that, I’m sure you know how it gets.”

Salvia did indeed know. It was simply insane how some bookings were handled; to get a flight from Canada to Spain connecting to a flight to Birmingham in England seemed more than a bit mad. But whatever got one home would work, right?

“You know, it’s strange. We’ve known each other for years and years already – friends in the same circles, and such, but we could never stand each other before. Something always felt off. But now, on this flight, something happened.” The old man’s tone changed again, something wistful coming into it that reminded Salvia of how her grandfather would sometimes speak of her grandmother. There was such warmth in his voice, something so gentle and wonderful, that she felt almost as though she were just a little girl again asking her grandfather about how he met his wife. “We sat next to each other. And one way or another, we started to talk. I mean, it’s a long flight, almost eleven hours. What else were we going to do, pretend the other didn’t exist for that whole time? We just started talking, about our wives, our children, our homes, our friends, anything. And I’ve never seen him like that before, and something… something just melted, I suppose.”

And his dimpled smile widened and warmed, so much so that Salvia couldn’t help but think that he was quite handsome; had he been younger, she would perhaps have tried for him herself, just for a smile like that.

“I fell in love,” he repeated. “Just during those hours, I fell in love for the second time in my life. Never knew I could love anyone but my wife, but here I am now. And as luck would have it, he feels the same way.”

It took an incredible effort to keep herself from letting out an audible squeal of delight at such words, but Salvia managed and said:

“Oh, that’s incredible! It’s so sweet!”

“Sweet as honey,” the old man agreed with a laugh. “Ah, he’d hate hearing me say so in public, but it’s true!”

“But what happened, then? How come he’s not here?”

“Well, see, we had different connecting flights, so I got here earlier. But we agreed that we would meet here, and I’d drive him home so we could spend a bit more time together.” In a flash, his smile was gone again, and he sighed deeply. “I wonder why I didn’t see him. I might’ve missed him, I suppose, but he must’ve been on that flight, unless he missed it.”

Maybe it was simply that there hadn’t been much to do that day. Maybe it was her love for a good story, especially sweet ones. Or perhaps it was Salvia’s memory of her own previous fling with a girl from school. Whatever it was that compelled her, she found it quite difficult to keep her hands away from the computer’s keyboard and to remind herself of the company’s policies.

“It really is very sweet,” she said, her heart weeping in her chest, “but I’m afraid I really can’t give out information about passengers. But you can try to have him called out, I think, and maybe that would work? Or you could call him?”

Her poor heart broke just a little further when the old man shook his head and explained that he had already attempted to call, but had received no answer. This sweet old man didn’t deserve such treatment – that is, if he had in fact been ghosted. Salvia had been through that a few times, and had no wish to see a sweet old man going through the same thing.

“Wait a moment,” she cried when the old man said a soft-voiced goodbye and turned to leave. “Wait just a moment! Look, I can’t give out any information, and I’m very sorry about that, but tell you what – how about you leave your number here with me, just in case? Maybe he is here, or maybe he was moved to another flight and is late. Either way, if he comes looking, I could call your number and let you know. Would that be alright?”

He hesitated, gave her the same thoughtful once-over that her own dad had given her on occasion – as though attempting to figure out if she was asking because she genuinely wanted to help. And finally, just as Salvia was sure that he would kindly refuse and walk away, taking this sweet story with him, he gave her a small smile and stepped back towards the counter.

“That would perhaps be a good idea,” he agreed. “So long as it won’t interfere with your work – I know it can get busy at an airport, I’d rather not make things worse for you.”

“It’s customer service.” Salvia grinned back at him and quickly grabbed a piece of paper and a pen for him. “I’m meant to help customers, and this kind of falls under that, right?”

Just a short while later, the man had left, and Salvia was curiously eyeing the name and phone-number on the paper. It was an odd name, she thought; not one she’d ever heard before. So many people had common surnames like Johnson, or Smith. Who ever heard of a surname like Took? And the first name sounded like something out of a story. The old man had laughed at her initial surprise and told her that most in his family had somewhat odd-sounding names, and that Gerontius was not the worst of the lot.

Well. At least he had been very nice. Which she made sure to point out to Mike, her co-worker, when he tried to tell her that it was a lost cause.

 Around lunchtime, Salvia retreated to the back room in order to eat what she had brought from home. It wasn’t much – a sandwich and an apple, really, but it was better than nothing. She wouldn’t have time with more than that, her break was too short. But at home, she had a container of leftover takeaway food waiting in the fridge that would make a wonderful dinner; it would make up for what she was missing earlier in the day.

She hadn’t been sitting there for long, however, when she heard Mike greeting a customer. At first, it seemed to be the usual stuff; someone who needed a bit of help, that was all. But then came the words that caught her attention and had her putting down her sandwich and rushing to the door.

“I was supposed to meet someone here,” said a man’s voice, a steady and relaxed tone that somehow reminded her of an older teacher she’d had in school. “He was meant to arrive from Spain, but I think he should have gotten here before me.”

Mike, bless him, caught on just as quickly as Salvia did and turned his head to call for her, smiling when he saw her peeking out from the back room.

“I think my colleague here might be fit to help you, sir,” he said, waving for Salvia to come out. “Though it’s her lunch-break, and-“

“Never mind the lunch,” cried Salvia as she came up to the counter. She gave the customer a bright smile. “Sir, you said you were waiting for someone meant to arrive with a flight from Spain? Did you by any chance just come from there too?”

He was quite short, she thought, much shorter than the previous man. If she were to take off her heels and step around the counter, she was willing to wager that she’d find him just around her height, if not a tad shorter. His dark skin was wrinkled, his hair was iron grey, but his grey eyes were bright and sharp – less shuttered than his expression, which reminded her equally of her old teacher. And he looked back at her, brow furrowing ever so slightly, and nodded.

“I did, yes. How did you know?”

“Call it a hunch.” She grinned and shuffled through the papers at her computer. “Hang on, give me half a moment.”

Still fixed with a somehow equally confused and annoyed sharp stare, Salvia dug out the paper with Gerontius’ number and pulled her work-phone towards her. This, she decided as she picked up the receiver and swiftly dialled the number, was by far the highlight of her day – no, of her entire time working there. This made everything worth it.

One signal.

Two, three, four.

Just as her heart began to sink just a little in her chest, the dial-tone broke and gave way to a slight crackle and a familiar voice:

“Gerontius Took speaking.”

“Hi there, Mr Took,” Salvia said blithely. “There’s someone waiting here for you by the counter you were at earlier!”

If not for the background noise over the line, she would have thought that he’d hung up by how silent he was for a moment. She kept her eyes on the old man on the other side of the counter, whose expression now was one of astonishment and a budding relief and joy.

“He’s there?!” cried Mr Took suddenly, and by the sound of it, he must have started to run. “He’s really there?!”

“He is, I promise! Here, I can hand the phone to him for a moment, I think he needs to hear your voice.”

She held out the receiver to the old man. Later on, when she was recounting the story to her family and to her friends, she would swear on whatever she could think of that he had tears in his eyes as he smiled at her, an action that transformed his face just as the sun transforms a landscape after a rainstorm.

“I’m here,” the old man said finally. “I’m here. My flight was full, I got transferred to another, and I couldn’t reach you when I tried. I know, I should have checked sooner… But you, you dolt, where did you go? Why didn’t you wait here? No, no, I don’t mean to snap at you! Please, just hurry, love, alright? I miss you. I miss you very much.”

Exchanging a look with her co-worker, Salvia felt almost close to tears herself. The softness in the old man’s voice when he professed to miss Mr Took was almost too much for her heart to handle.

A few more words exchanged, and finally the old man returned the receiver with a relieved smile.

“He just said what you did for him,” he said softly. “I can’t thank you enough. Stars know what I would’ve done if I’d arrived here and found that he’d already left.”

Smiling and feeling heat rush to her cheeks (though whether from pride or embarrassment she couldn’t be certain), Salvia replied:

“He just made the whole thing sound so sweet and romantic. I couldn’t just tell him I couldn’t do anything, you know?”

“Oh, that. He does that.” The old man’s smile widened as he spoke. “At least he can’t have made the whole thing sound too ridiculous.”

 They had time, Salvia thought to herself as they continued to talk. She could keep him company; if any other customers came, they could speak to Mike. This was a story that she wanted desperately to see the end of.

His name was Mungo Baggins, she learned as they spoke. Another very odd name – but he laughed at her surprised expression and told her that where he lived, names such as that were quite common. He told her his side of the story in short terms, explained how the eleven hours spent on a flight with Mr Took had changed quite a lot in his life.

“I used to find him so arrogant,” sighed Mr Baggins. “Insufferable lout that he was, he was always acting as though he owned whatever establishment he stepped into. Loud and brash and impulsive. I couldn’t stand him before, even if our fathers were quite close – did he tell you that? Anyway, I had to deal with him sooner or later, when my son fell in love with his daughter. And this flight was… It was ideal, I suppose. I mean, I love my wife, of course I do. I adore her. But he’s… Gerontius is just…”

“He’s just different?” Salvia filled in with a smile. “You know, there’s a word for that. For loving more than one person, I mean. Polyamorous.”

“Oh, I know, I’ve heard. It just isn’t something that I had associated with myself or with him before. It’ll take a bit to get used to it.”

Ten minutes passed, and still they were chatting. And suddenly a call rang out not very far away, and as they looked, Mr Took came rushing towards the counter. Mr Baggins, seeming to momentarily forget all about the conversation with Salvia, left the counter and hurried to meet him, and Salvia couldn’t help but give a small squeak of sheer joy when she watched how Mr Took pulled the significantly shorter man into a tight hug.

“Got your happy ending, huh?” Mike asked with a laugh.

“This,” answered Salvia, “just makes it worth working here. It’s like a film!”

When had she last been thanked so profusely by a customer? Never. She was quite sure of that. But Mr Took and Mr Baggins were beyond grateful, and there seemed to be no end to their words of thanks. And when it was time for them to leave, they left hand-in hand, looking quite happy. It was more than enough for Salvia to see them smiling at each other.

 Even in the car, Gerontius wasn’t willing to let go of Mungo’s hand, no matter how the man tried to tell him to focus on keeping the car on the road.

“It’s an automatic,” the Took said firmly in the end. “I can damn well steer with one hand and hold your hand with the other, there’s no worry about that.”

“The gears aren’t a concern of mine,” Mungo sniped back, without any real heat in his voice. “I only want you to live long enough for this-“ and here he gestured between them “-to actually be explored.”

It certainly didn’t have much effect on Gerontius, other than making him a little misty-eyed. Mungo wanted this, just as much as he did; it still didn’t seem quite real.

“That lass really was incredible, wasn’t she?” he said instead, hoping to push his mind away from any second-guessing. “Very sweet one.”

Mungo laughed softly and gave the older man’s hand a gentle squeeze, unknowingly chasing away any worry and second-guessing.

“She was, yes,” he agreed. “Though I do wish we could have given her something more as thanks.”