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I offered the girl the gum.
The girl shoved the gum in her mouth, wrapper and all, just like Fernando would. Then she spit the half-chewed paper and gum back out, like Fernando would not.
“I should have thought of gum,” the mom said. “We’ve never traveled by plane before. I brought activity books and I just didn’t—”
“It’ll be all right,” I told her, and tried to give her a smile that said even-though-I-would-love-to-silence-your-child-with-a-throat-punch-I-will-resist.
The girl shoved the gum back into her mouth, chewed a bit more, and settled.
“Thank you,” the mother said.
“It’s nothing,” I said. Then I turned in my seat, pulled out my cellular telephone from my non-magical purse, and quietly played one of the cartoons I had previously downloaded.
It was a colored classic I had not yet seen, with a squinting man who had bizarrely large forearms. The character squeezed a can of vegetables in his hand, and the globular green contents flew up into the air and into his mouth.
“Disgusting,” I said.
A chuckle came from too-close to my ear. I pulled away and found the no-longer-crying girl sitting up on her knees to watch over my shoulder.
“I hate vegetables, too,” she said. She rubbed her tiny hands together and batted her thick eyelashes. “Fank you for the gum.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, then continued watching my program.
“What’s wrong with his arms?” she asked.
“Probably some terrible birth defect. Or cancer,” I told her.
“Maybe he should eat chocolate instead of vegetables. That’s what I like, and my mom says I’m healthy,” the girl said.
The girl’s mother was beaming at us, clearly over-invested in our conversation.
“I like chocolate, too,” I told the girl. Then I turned in my seat so she could see my screen without having to climb over my back.
The rest of the flight was uneventful. After we landed in Roldaria, Imogen pulled me aside as we exited into the terminal.
“You did so good with that little girl,” she said, apparently as over-invested as the girl’s mother had been. “You must be growing as a person.”
“Doubtful,” I told her. “She has good taste. And she reminded me of Fernando.”
Imogen shook her head and sighed.
With no need to stop at baggage claim this time, we headed straight for the exit door. As usual, Imogen lagged behind.
When she caught up, she wrinkled her face and swiped her thumb over her cellular telephone screen. “Huh, I’ve never had this happen before.”
I glanced at the image she was attempting to interact with—the Whirl application. “Noah is not going to pick us up,” I told her.
“Why not? I see he’s been off for days. That’s weird. Maybe something bad happened to him.” Her eyes widened. “Oh no, do you think he’s all right?”
“He’s dead.”
“Oh no.” Her shoulders slumped.
“Don’t waste your empathy on him.”
“That’s terrible, Lily,” Imogen said. “You don’t want good things to happen for everyone?”
“The world doesn’t work that way,” I said. “And if someone must suffer a misfortune, I will not cry for the man who stole my suitcase and licked my toes. He inadvertently crushed himselfbeneath a pile of goods he’d stolen. I’ve seen far better people suffer far more terrible fates.”
