“Unbelievable!” the dealmaker said, throwing his arms in the air and racing after his beloved appendage. “Would someone call the cops on this lady?!”

“Do it yourself,” said the woman standing behind him in line. She wore soft curls in her hair and barely a shadow of makeup. She turned to April. “Hard day, dear?”

“The hardest,” April said, stepping in line and slipping off her shoes. She tossed them into a bucket with her messenger bag. No one objected.

“That guy was a jerk,” said the woman in curls. “Am I right?” she asked the other people in line.

Yes, they all agreed. Certifiable jerk.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” April said to everyone.

“Just keep it moving,” said a security guard, his hand held out to accept her identification and boarding pass.

April handed the information to him, then grabbed her shoes and bag off the belt as soon as they were within her reach. She sprinted toward the gate in her socks and checked the departure board. The flight she needed was listed as on time: boarding. There was still hope. But not much.

Arriving at the gate, she could see that most of the people had already boarded the aircraft. She raced up to the empty counter, where a pleasant young woman was stationed.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I need to get on that plane,” April said.

“I don’t think there’s going to be enough space for you,” came the sad reply. “But we can try!”

April propped her elbow on the counter and leaned her forehead against her fingers. “That means I’m not getting on.”

“Probably not,” the woman said. She pointed to a group of people standing a few yards away. “They’re all waiting to get on too. A few of them have been here since early this morning.”

“Thanks,” April said to her. She turned and walked over to join the group. They all looked tired, and a bit desperate. April knew what they were feeling—she’d once spent two long days trapped in Chicago’s O’Hare airport during a blizzard.

“Four of us aren’t getting on,” a pudgy member of the group said. He wore a Hawaiian shirt and looked a little sun-fried. “I counted everyone that walked onto the plane. There are eleven of us—counting you—and only seven spaces.”

“So why are the rest of you waiting?”

“I guess, just in case a miracle happens,” a woman in the group said. She held a picture of her kids in her hands. There were dark circles under her eyes. She’d had enough. She wanted to be home. “You never want to give up hope.”

“I know what you mean,” April said, watching as the last few stragglers spilled from the gate into the Jetway.