Chapter 4

At the gate, Sophie takes my travel notebook from my bag and opens it across our knees.

"Grandma wants to take us to the market Saturday."

"Only if she feels up to it."

Sophie shows me Dad's photograph. The folding bed is ready with water, a lamp, and a charger beside it.

"Grandpa thought of everything."

I smile and send Dad our boarding time.

Daniel's conversation sits underneath. His last message is still there.

[Don't contact me again until you're ready to be reasonable and apologize to Melissa.]

I lock the screen.

Sophie takes the window seat. I put the notebook in the seat pocket, check our bags, and fasten my belt.

She looks at my arm.

"Does it still hurt?"

"A little."

"I keep thinking about the chair moving."

I turn toward her, feeling the bruise pull along my side.

"You didn't have to fix anything that night. I'm glad you came with me."

She nods.

I leave my hand beside hers until her fingers slowly relax.

When the safety demonstration begins, I pay attention.

Years ago, I used to walk aisles like this in uniform, checking latches, overhead bins, and seat belts. After I left the airline for travel consulting, those announcements slowly became ordinary noise.

After takeoff, I message Beth.

[We're on our way.]

For a while, everything is normal.

Sophie listens to music while I finish one client itinerary and put my computer away. We open the notebook and discuss our first day, crossing out anything that would make Dad drive too far.

The tea in my cup trembles.

The seat-belt sign comes on.

I close the notebook, put away the tray, and tighten the belt across my hips.

"Some bumps," I tell Sophie.

A harder jolt lifts us sharply before the belt catches me.

Sophie grabs my wrist, and a cup farther forward strikes the aisle.

The flight attendant immediately takes the nearest empty seat.

Then the announcement comes.

The captain orders all cabin crew to be seated.

I know that instruction.

I know the safest thing is to stay seated and keep the belt tight.

Knowing does not slow my heartbeat.

The aircraft shakes again, throwing Sophie's shoulder into mine.

Someone cries out behind us, followed by a crash from the galley.

"Don't undo your belt," I tell her, gripping her hand. "Stay here."

Her face has gone pale.

I do not remember taking out my phone.

Daniel's photograph fills the screen, uniform, gold stripes, the same image that once made me feel safe.

His last message is still underneath.

[Don't contact me again until you're ready to be reasonable and apologize to Melissa.]

The aircraft drops again.

I stop thinking.

[Daniel, the turbulence is really bad. Sophie is frightened. So am I. Please answer.]

I press send.

The Wi-Fi has stopped loading.

A small symbol turns beside the message.

I know Daniel cannot do anything to this aircraft from thousands of miles away.

I know the safety procedures myself.

I still want to hear his voice.

I want him to tell me it is turbulence, to keep my belt fastened, that we are going to be okay.

Sophie takes out her phone too.

Her message to her father is not sending either.

Another violent movement pulls us hard against our belts.

Sophie grabs me with both hands.

"Mom, are we going to die?"

I turn toward her.

Years ago, when I stood in the aisle, I always knew what to say to frightened passengers.

But this is my daughter.

I open my mouth just as the aircraft jolts again.

My phone slips, and I catch it against my thigh.

The screen is still lit.

Beneath his name, the message still says:

[Sending...]