A flight attendant asked whether I needed assistance.
“No, thank you.”
I sat down and fastened my seat belt.
My hands were trembling so badly that I struggled with the buckle.
I stared straight ahead, hoping that if I didn’t look toward business class again, I could somehow convince myself I’d imagined it.
Then Ryan laughed.
I recognized that laugh, too.
He used it when I teased him about his terrible dancing. He used it when the children told jokes. He used it when we sat together on our back porch after the kids had gone to bed.
Now he was laughing with Megan.
She leaned toward him and whispered, “You promised me we’d have more time together.”
He looked around before answering.
“I know. Just be patient.”
I heard those words from several rows away, and they settled inside me like stones.
The flight attendant asked everyone to take their seats.
