He saw her the moment he stopped. The aisle in front of him was blocked; the line going back to economy had stopped at 18D as passengers were stowing luggage in overhead bins. Her shoulder-length brown hair swept across her face and hid her eyes, which were, at the moment, turned down toward a wiggling pink bundle on her lap. She cooed softly, seemingly oblivious to the passengers trudging past her.
He stared, as if remembering something from the distant past. No identity came to mind, but it seemed to him he should know her, even though he had seen only a small part of her face. The line backed up briefly, then surged forward a step. She was now a row and a half in front of him.
She looked up and their eyes locked briefly. No, he had no idea who she was, but she looked like someone he had seen before, perhaps on the silver screen? Her face was rather plain, but he found her soft features, clear complexion, and scarcity of makeup attractive. However, her identity was still elusive. Her expression turned from one of idle looking-around to a puzzled pensiveness, and her eyebrows puckered almost imperceptibly, but he noticed.
She followed his eyes as he turned to the bundle and smiled. A deep, satisfied smile; the pink blanket brought back a flood of memories. He looked at her again, but she was looking down, and, subconsciously perhaps, moving the blanket back to give him a better look. She was dressed in jeans, as he was, and wore a dark blue long-sleeve tee shirt with a light-colored open front vest embroidered with dark flowers. A preppy look, he thought. Early thirties, maybe, the same age Rachel would have been. He stifled a tear and looked away.
He felt a slight jab in his back and glanced up. Realizing the line was moving, he readjusted his grip on his leather carry-on and exited the business class rows toward his seat in 21E.
Seat 21D, the seat on the aisle he had come down, was unoccupied and he settled his six-foot, two-hundred-pound frame into the seat beside it. He was in his early sixties, although most people would have guessed late forties or early fifties. He was glad he was somewhat fit; the walking habit he had acquired over the last several months meant he wasn’t as squished as he would have been during his sedentary working years. Power-walking, they had said. Power-distracting, he had countered.
Although the business class cabin was already completely occupied, he could tell he was one of the first ones on. There had been plenty of room in the overhead bin, and 21H, the seat next to his, was still empty. Maybe this flight from Chicago to London would be sparsely filled and he could stretch out across all three seats.
A moment later, his hopes were dashed as an elderly man and woman, wearing identical brand-new Virgin Islands sweatshirts, flopped down into 21H and, in the row across the other aisle, 21K, still arguing about which grandson was cuter when he was two. Everything had gone into the overhead except Field and Stream and Good Housekeeping. He could tell by the wrappers that they had just come from the magazine shop next to their exit gate. Following immediately after were the two grandsons in question, looking to be in their early teens. They took the seats on either side of their grandmother, while their grandfather stayed in 21H.
The flight attendant, Adela, strolled by, checking seats. The exit door was due to close in a few minutes. He was hoping 21D would stay empty, so he stopped her and asked. “Perhaps,” she said.
She consulted her list again. It was a list of all the empty seats, based on who had already checked in. “They haven’t checked in yet. This is supposed to be a completely full flight. In fact, there are eight people not checked in yet, and interestingly enough, they are registered from several different cities in Russia. I can’t show you the list, though. However, the seats are scattered all throughout economy. I just think it’s a little odd. But maybe they all were coming together and got delayed. I hope they get here soon. We can’t wait for them.”
A minute later, the welcome announcement was issued from the cockpit in both English and French and he settled back to wait for takeoff. The Virgin Islanders had made up and were settling in as well.
But the plane didn’t move. There were thuds and noises from the baggage compartment below his feet, and he presumed that they were removing the baggage of the missing passengers. A moment’s silence, then more activity underneath. Adela came by to let him know that 21D would be vacant for the duration of the flight. “We got their baggage just about out,” she said, “when the ground crew found out they had taken an earlier flight. Their baggage didn’t make it on that flight, so they reloaded it back onto this flight.”
The look on his face told Adela he had a question, which she attempted to answer. “They were traveling together from Los Angeles. Their flight was delayed and they had a close connection, so to be on the safe side, they got booked on this flight in case they were late for their scheduled flight.”
“Yes, I figured that, but I would have thought your computer systems would have caught that and taken care of those notifications?”
Adela realized she was giving too much information, so she simply said, “I don’t know. But we’re about to depart, and I have to finish my preps.” As her skirt twirled around and swished down the aisle, all the individual screens, commandeered by the on-board master, began showing how to buckle your safety belt, and what to do if you come down in the water.
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