Now with Chris’s authoritative presence, and some space, Eileen was able to check her every pocket and her catastrophe of a bag. She finally located the rectangular piece of paper in a side pocket where she had absentmindedly shoved it. Her seat assignment was 22B. Once there was a break in the aisle traffic, Chris carried her tote and rolled her suitcase back up the aisle, past the man she’d almost concussed in 27D and his angry wife.

Eileen didn’t dare even glance at them.

“Here we go.” Chris pointed to what seemed to be the last empty seat on the whole plane, a middle seat in the middle of the plane.

Eileen died a little more when she saw the cramped little space she would be spending the next two hours inside. The passenger between her and her seat stood up while Chris opened the overhead bins all around her seat to try to find a spot for her suitcase. “I’m sorry, they’re all full. We’ll need to gate-check it,” Chris informed her.

Of course.

Resigned, Eileen nodded and held onto the seat back in front of her and shuffled with her tote into her seat.

“I’ll bring you back a gate-check receipt in just a minute,” Chris said. “You’ll pick your bag up in baggage claim once we’re in San Francisco.”

Eileen collapsed backward into 22B. “Thank you,” was all she said as she shoved her tote beneath the seat in front of her and searched for the seat belt.

Chris disappeared toward the front of the plane while her seatmate to the right of her squeezed back into their row and began the process of readjusting himself, his seat belt, bottle of water, phone, and headphones, in preparation for the next two uncomfortable hours ahead of them.

Eileen sat back and stared at the blank screen embedded into the back of the headrest in front of her. Maybe this was all she would do for the whole flight—stare in a stupor of disbelief for two hours. Completely surrounded as she was, she couldn’t risk pulling Dave’s note out of the envelope and reading it. She couldn’t trust or predict what her reaction might be. Already an exposed wire of raw emotions, the last thing she needed was to start sobbing uncontrollably while trapped dead center of an airplane hurtling through the skies at forty thousand feet.

“Eileen?” Chris called her name gently from the aisle.

She looked at him, expecting to get her bag claim ticket from him.

“Eileen Greyden?” he clarified.

She nodded her head stupidly.

Chris smiled. “I need you to gather your things and come with me,” he explained.

Her shoulders sagged—what now? “Is something wrong?” she asked.