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My eyes followed his feet.
By the time they stopped moving, I could hear what that thing was. A slight gurgling sound—heavy coughing, followed by unmistakable chest rattling. I craned my neck, trying to get a better look. With Henry’s torso blocking the view, ultimately I was forced to stand and make my way up the aisle, where Henry stood looming over our passenger. When I reached him, Henry’s head was slightly cocked. His hands rested on his hips. The Italian appeared to be trying to speak while alternately gripping his throat and pleading with his hands. His face was a perfect cherry red, making it clear what the problem was. Still, Henry peered down at him as though perplexed. I remember thinking it was one of the strangest and most beautiful things I’d ever seen.
I asked Henry what he was doing as I simultaneously shoved him aside. “He’s choking,” I said. “We’re trained for this.”
“Precisely,” he answered, one corner of his lip turned upward. Henry was not then, and still isn’t now, the smiling kind.
I shook my head and went in for the kill, wrapping my arms around the Italian. Pressing my stomach to his back, I gave the Heimlich my best shot. It was a struggle. The man was larger than I’d anticipated, and I found it difficult to get my arms around him. “Henry!”
“Let it be,” Henry said.
“It’s not working,” I grunted. “I can’t—”
He watched me, wordless, as the Italian’s face turned an indigo blue.
“Work with me,” I begged the passenger, reaching, heaving, praying for a bit of give but finding nothing of the sort. He flailed about haplessly, like a fish out of water, while also purring like a cat, which sounds funny, but that’s the sensation I felt with my body pressed against his. A white foamy substance dribbled from his mouth onto my wrist. He lurched forward, fighting me, as he struggled for air. It was impossible to dislodge whatever was blocking his airway if he refused to let me get my arms around him. Nonetheless, the milky foam kept falling from his lips. My arms were coated in it. It smelled like old cheese, and it was warm—the kind of thing you don’t forget. Like a smile out of Henry, if you’re ever lucky enough to squeeze one out.
“Probably a fish bone,” Henry noted, nodding at the man’s half-eaten lunch. Antipasti, lake trout, fresh figs, and Vernaccia wine. Not exactly the kind of food you get flying commercial.
“Are you going to help?” I said to Henry, as I stuck two fingers down the man’s throat, swabbing side to side. “Or should I summon the pilot?”
“It won’t be long now,” he answered, glancing at his watch. A vintage Rolex—I noticed it the first time we met. Over the last few weeks, it had become more and more apparent that not only did Henry have a watch fetish, he had quite the collection. “Just hold on.”
I gave him a sideways look. At first glance, Henry had appeared ordinary enough. Hardworking, intelligent, and possibly gay, given his quietly expensive taste. In his late twenties, I presumed, with the kind of face you instantly forget. But there was something more, an unblinking watchfulness about him, one that no doubt made him good at the job that was not so ordinary.
Henry glanced at his watch again.
I relaxed my arms, and the Italian slumped forward.
“This is very unfortunate,” Henry said, checking the man’s pulse. “He’s breathing. Faintly.”
“What the fuck—” My mouth hung open, only closing long enough to suck in air, which eventually allowed me to complete my question. “What are we going to do?”
Henry’s brow furrowed momentarily and then his eyes widened in surprise. “Damn.”
“What?”
“It wasn’t a fish bone.”
I frowned. I didn’t follow.
“You put the peanut glaze on his salad, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Maybe.”
Henry watched me for a second, taking note of my condition, of the breathlessness, of my incessant panting. He commented that I could use some fitness training. Considering the day I was having, I didn’t entirely disagree. He waited for a response before realizing I wasn’t going to offer one. Eventually, he made a clucking sound with his tongue. “Says on this profile he’s allergic to nuts.”
I felt everything drain out of me at once. This situation was going to require a lot of paperwork, and if I were really and truly unlucky, possibly jail time. Definitely a lengthy court case when the charter company was sued. No doubt I’d have to testify, and I hate an audience. “Fuck.”
“Missed that, huh?”
My throat was too dry for me to speak. Another shrug was all I could offer.
“You managed to read a novel, but not his profile?”
I cocked one eyebrow. I imagined myself leaning forward and, despite my lack of fitness, snapping Henry’s neck. It wouldn’t save my job, but it might make me feel better about the impending loss of it.
Henry considered me carefully. “Okay,” he said, handing over the salad plate. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” He scanned the cabin and motioned toward the plate in my hand. “Take that and get rid of the evidence.”
