That it was selfish. And holier-than-thou. And reckless.

And even if he’s determined to pretend he’s okay, Q shouldn’t have to shuffle through his last days in fear and gloom.

He deserves peace, which is sometimes better than truth.

And yeah, if I don’t tell Q the truth, we’re probably not here: thirty thousand feet in the air, cruising toward his dreams, a flight so smooth it’s like turbulence is officially extinct.

But that wasn’t my call to make.

The truth is you can never truly make amends for the hurt you cause; you apologize, you try to atone, at best the scars lighten but they don’t disappear.

You live with the pain that you pained someone.

The lady in the seat next to me elbows me in the ribs, but I don’t feel a thing.

At the hotel we split into two groups.

Whit, Autumn, and me in one room. Q and his mom in another.

We have to practically lock Whit in our room to get her to rest; the plane ride and all of the last-minute running around wiped her out, but she was determined to stay in the game. Only Ms. Barrantes’s nursing expertise convinces Whit to take a nap, to get off her feet.

So we set up our plan-making committee in Q’s room.

Our plan is simple.

We’ll construct an assortment of handwritten signs that Kendrick will be unable to resist, let alone ignore. He’ll see the signs, all singing Q’s praises, along with special emphasis on Q’s undying love and admiration for Kendrick, and badda-boom badda-bing!

But okay, a couple of minor obstacles to consider.

Minor obstacle number one: while assumptions are usually ill-fated, I assume that signage, even of a happy-if-slightly-solicitous nature, is probably frowned upon at the show. And understandably so; you wouldn’t want a bunch of weirdos flashing signs at Kendrick while he’s trying to get through his monologue.

But this, for my money, seemed to be a minor setback, easily remedied: we’d smuggle our signs into the studio under our clothes and/or bags and/or purses, then remove them from said articles at the optimal time, accompanied by a combination of jumping up and down at seats and wave-fluttering our permanent-markered pleas.

Minor obstacle number two: I seem to be the only one who understands the vital importance of these signs.

See for yourself:

Our signs should be inspirational, yes—but also should evoke the feelings you might have as you read a ransom note instructing you what to do if you ever want to see your loved one.

Hence, my sign: