Page 17 of In Flight

Her flight is my flight, so I have her get into line in front of me while she chats about how big and impersonal airports are nowadays. They weren’t like this before when she was younger. She’s on her way to Savannah to visit her grandson and his family. She has three great-grandchildren and another on the way.

I’m telling her she must be very proud when someone steps behind me in line. Since my attention is on the lady, it takes me a minute to pick up the vibes.

I whirl around to see Isaac standing behind me. “What are you doing here?”

He arches his eyebrows in a look that’s now familiar. “I’m flying back to Savannah to work.”

“I know that. I meant getting in line right now. You always wait until the last minute.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, of course you do.” Annoyed at his purposeful cluelessness, I turn back to the nice lady and ask her how many times she’s been to Savannah.

I can feel Isaac grinning behind me as we progress up to the attendant, but I don’t turn back to check.

No sense in giving him the satisfaction.

It takes a while to get back to our seats because everyone in the rows in front of us is stowing their luggage, taking their jackets off, and generally getting settled. I’ve often wondered why they don’t make the obvious choice of boarding people seated in the back first.

But the world doesn’t function by the ideal of the first shall be last. Not even on planes.

The first always go first.

The old lady is seated across the aisle from me and Isaac. I show her the seat and help her off with her coat.

“Can your husband lift my suitcase up that high?” she asks me, gesturing toward the open overhead compartment.

“He can definitely handle it,” I tell her, flushing slightly for no good reason. “But he’s not my husband.”

Isaac is grinning again as he puts up her suitcase.

The lady is flustered but not because of her mistake. Traveling by plane is obviously stressful for her, and who could blame her? “He’s not?” she asks me, looking from me to Isaac and back again. “How odd.”

I don’t question how and why it’s odd. I just smile at her kindly. “Is there anything else I can help you with, ma’am?”

“I don’t think so, dear. You’ve been very kind. I’m going to sit here and read my Bible and pray.” She pats the well-worn leather volume she pulled out of her large purse earlier.

“I think that’s a very good idea. I’m River. Isaac and I are sitting right here if you need anything.”

“Thank you, dear. I’ll pray for the two of you between prayers that we don’t fall out of the sky.”

When I’ve assured myself she’s settled, I take off my jacket. I’ve been feeling very cute all day in a soft tiered skirt and a pink sweater that makes the most of my not-insignificant breasts.

Just so it’s clear, I was in a cute mood when I chose this outfit earlier. I’m not trying to look my best for any specific reason.

Isaac hasn’t sat down yet, and he steps out of the way so I can slide into my seat.

I look at him fully for the first time since he got into line behind me. He’s particularly cute himself in a rust-colored crew neck and khakis.

He must have gotten his hair cut over the weekend because it’s not quite as rumpled as it was on Friday.

“How was the ballet?” I ask him, setting my mug of tea—prepared as always from a tea bag and hot water past security—on the armrest between us as I get my knitting and my phone and my sketchbook out of my bag.

“It was fine. Long. Very long. But fine.”

I can’t quite hold back a giggle at his tone. Leaning over to check the old lady—who is indeed reading her Bible and mouthing silent words—I say, “Well, you could have said no.”

“We’ve had this conversation.”

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