Chapter 7 - Flight to the Coast
At three in the afternoon, Janine Miller sat in seat 2A of a regional jet climbing through the cloud banks above the Pacific coastline.
In her lap was a leather travel brochure for *The Terraces at Carmel*, a luxury coastal living community nestled among the cypress groves of Monterey County. Harold had arranged the lease on Wednesday morning: a private, two-bedroom stone cottage overlooking the waves, featuring a wood-burning fireplace, a private sun garden, and daily concierge service.
A flight attendant approached, offering a warm linen cloth and a glass of sparkling water.
“Can I get you anything else, Mrs. Miller?”
“No, thank you, dear,” Janine said. “Everything is perfect.”
She looked out of the oval window. Below, the azure waters of the Pacific stretched out toward the horizon.
For five years, her world had been defined by the parameters of a washing machine’s spin cycle, the demands of a spoiled daughter-in-law, and the guilt imposed by a son who saw his mother only as an obstacle between himself and an inheritance.
She reached into her purse and retrieved her cell phone.
She pulled out the SIM card—the number Tyson, Tatum, and their social circle had used to summon her like a domestic servant—and dropped the tiny piece of plastic into the empty coffee cup beside her.
She pulled out the new, encrypted phone Harold had provided. It contained only four contacts: Harold Brennan, the concierge at The Terraces, her bank manager, and her lifelong friend Martha in Maine.
May you like
Janine reclined her seat, closed her eyes, and listened to the hum of the engines carrying her toward the sea.
***
