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“I mean,” she rambles on, “you could try a new hairstyle instead. Plastic surgery is so drastic. Get a bob haircut and stop putting it up in such a harsh bun. It just makes your face look longer.”
A shiver of anger runs through my shoulders. But I keep myself in check. This is just a kid. She doesn’t realize how rude she is being.
Still looking around the cabin, I mutter to her, “I’ve gotten every hair cut in the book. None of them help. Besides, to really fix the lines, I have to have layers that frame my face, and they just get messy, and I hate that.”
Where is my wine?
A sudden jolt of movement pushes us back against our seats as the plane finally gets going. My stomach jumps, overcome with nerves. Reaching out, I grip the armrests as tight as I can, letting my nails push into the fabric.
Oblivious to my panic, my young companion keeps looking through the brochures. “I mean, what will your kids think? And your husband? They won’t even recognize you.”
“I don’t have a husband,” I snap.
She glances over to me with her mouth slightly open. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume. Your wife then?”
The plane engines roar, sending me into a spiral of fear. Suddenly I am the same age as the girl next to me, and all I want to do is curl up into a ball with my feet on the seat.
I need another drink. Where is Bobby?
Fruitlessly, I glance around the cabin. Yet, logically I know that Bobby is in the back with his seat belt on. So, I’m not getting another drink until we are in the air.
“My grandmother had a long face,” Ms. Chatterbox continues. “She used to wear hats all the time. But when people asked why, she would say that she was pretending to be British, not because of her face shape.”
There is a slightly strange noise in the engine to my left. A sputtering click that only happens every few minutes. It’s very slight, but something in my soul tells me that it’s bad. Did they check that engine? They had enough time. We are waiting for over forty-five minutes. With nothing else to do, I grip the armrests tighter until the tops of my knuckles appear white.
“Ms. Lopez was my fifth-grade teacher. She had a face like yours too, but she used to wear bangs. Have you ever tried bangs? That might make you look younger. How old are you? Thirty-five? My mom is over forty, but she dresses like she’s twenty. I mean, I get it, she had to find a new husband, but now that she’s got one, she should really give it a rest. It’s embarrassing.”
Is the cabin spinning? To try to steady myself, I look out the little window. We haven’t even lifted off yet. I can still see the bushes that line the runway. I just need to calm down. I try to take a deep breath, but I can’t. My chest is frozen. All my ears can hear is that click in the engine's sound and the endless prattle from the little girl next to me.
“And that’s why I’m going to live with my dad. Even though he isn’t around much. Mom says that having a pre-teen in the house isn’t romantic, and she and Glen need all the romance they can get. I don’t even get it. I was always up in my room. They never even wanted me down for dinner, so why would it matter if I lived there or not, right? I should be able to stay and keep my friends.”
The click is louder. It’s becoming more frequent. With another jump and hitch, the plane starts moving forward. It speeds up.
I still can’t breathe. The cabin is spinning. I have to stop this. I have to calm down. I have to tell someone that the plane is going to crash!
Reaching for something, anything, I grab the soft, warm hand of the little girl next to me. She stiffens and stops her monologue.
With my other hand, I grab the empty wine glass.
“Miss, are you okay?”
At least she didn’t call me ma’am, I think, then black out.
Chapter Four - Owen
It’s after seven, and the sun is finally setting. I don’t mind the longer days that come with spring. However, there is peace that comes when the sun goes down. On my most haggard days, I like to watch the sunset, letting it be symbolic and take with it the worries of the day. It’s a few minutes of peace that I get in a lifetime devoted to war.
It’s that peace I crave this evening. I know a storm is coming. I feel it, cramped up in my stomach along with excitement. My daughter is coming to live with me for the first time since she was three. It’s a desperate measure for her mother but an opportunity for me. Time has flown by, and I barely know the child. One more blink and she will be gone, too busy for a man who once was too busy for her.
