Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust

Chapter 1

Chapter One

"This has all happened before, and it will all happen again" –Walt Disney's Peter Pan

"Danny? Danielle? Danny?" Danny looked up, startled. "You okay, honey?"

"What-yeah. I'm fine," she replied, looking out the window of the airplane at the fluffy clouds. Her parents, Carlisle and Julie Williams, looked at her with concern.

"Really, you guys! I'm fine." She stood up. "I have to go to the bathroom."

Danny stumbled her way towards the gross little airplane bathroom. She had always been clumsy, and the airplane didn't help. Finally reaching the bathroom, she closed and locked the door behind her. Leaning against the door-but careful not to touch it with her bare skin- she closed her eyes. It was still a shock to her that after ten years in the United States, her dad's boss was making them move back to their native England.

It could've been worse, though, Danny mused. At least we're moving back to our old neighborhood. And because all their family was still in England, they had visited for six weeks every summer and holidays. Everyone in the states was so jealous when she came back with a British accent, and her friends-her friends used to tease her about how all the boys thought it was hot. Oh God, she thought. I will not cry...Danny began to furiously fan her face, but it was too late. The tears flew, fast and thick, but her sobs were silent, a trick she had gotten good at mastering because of the move. Wiping her eyes, she began to remember how her ex, Kyle, would say in a bad British accent, "Don't cry, love." Just the thought of him made her angry, and she stopped crying.

"Dang it," she muttered, reaching for the packet of tissues she kept in her oversize "Feed our Small World" Nordstrom & FEED tote. With a loud honk, she blew her nose. Swapping the Kleenex for a container of MAC concealer, she began to gingerly dab it around her hazel eyes and her lightly freckled nose. Bang. Bang. BANG.

"All right, chill, I'm coming..." She pumped the germy door handle and nearly fell as the plane swayed. The passenger, a crotchety old Asian man, muttered something in Japanese and gave her a dirty look. Giving him a weak smile, Danny turned to walk down the aisle. One of the old grandmotherly flight attendants tapped her on the shoulder.

"Dearie, your puppy has been crying."

"Oh. May I see her?"

"Yes. Follow me." The attendant beckoned Danny to follow her to the pet storage area. One of the younger flight attendants was bent over a large carrier, trying to calm down whatever was in there. He stood up at their approach, and gasped, "She just won't stop whimpering." Danny stepped forward.

"I'm her owner."

"Thank God," he said, relieved. "She's all yours." Danny kneeled down and looked through the bars.

"Its okay, Nana, shh." Nana was Danny's seven-month-old Saint Bernard. Danny should've known something was up when she got her for Christmas. She'd been trying to get a puppy for years-ever since she knew what dogs were, and especially after her cat died-and she just all of a sudden gets a puppy for Christmas? A month later, they announced the move.

Danny stroked Nana through the bars.

"I know, baby. Just an hour more." Seeing the dog had begun to calm under her touch, she brushed off her jeans and stood up. Thankfully Carlisle had been able to pull some strings-woo the airport workers, more likely, with his looks-and Nana didn't need to be quarantined. Danny was thankful for that, because she didn't want to traumatize the puppy any more than a trans-Atlantic flight already would. Not to mention keeping her in quarantine would be a real pain in the ass, er, arse.