*Helena*

THE NEXT WEEK

We boarded the private jet together.   In the week leading up to this moment, Bette and I maintained amicable relations.  We never once brought up what I said to Bette in the taxi after the party.

“I’ve never been on such a swanky plane before.” Bette said as she looked around.

I shrugged at her.  I had been on planes like this since I was a child.  We sat down and before we knew it, we were in the air.  Bette leaned her head towards the window, resting it on the glass.  I wanted my shoulder to be the glass—for her to lean against me, trust me with her everything and anything, and for her to allow me to be her crutch.

“If you lean this way, it could be more comfortable.” I said softly.  She lifted her head, tilting it slightly in thought.

“What do you mean?”

“My shoulder is probably a lot more comfortable than a hard, cold window.”  My resolve was wearing thin, but I still wanted her there.

“You’re offering me your shoulder to sleep on?” I nodded.  Bette smiled and leaned over in my direction, “You should stop being so nice to me.”

“Why?”

“You’re going to make me think you like me.”

I just laughed at her statement, leaving it there.  She’d know eventually how I felt; how I was utterly floored every time I saw her.

HOURS LATER

We both woke up to the flight attendant telling us that we had landed.  Bette pulled her head away from me and we both stood up to walk out of the plane.  The daylight was harsh, but we’d been inside one of my mother’s chauffeured cars soon.  The chauffeur and one of the flight attendants were putting our bags into the car.  Once we got in, we were off to my mother’s estate.

I couldn’t help but steal glances at Bette as we drove.  She looked fascinated.

“Ever been to New York?” I asked.

“Once, when I was young.  When my parents were still married.”  I saw a lot of pain in her eyes.  If left to me, I’d rid her of that pain immediately.