The gate agent was frowning at her screen, one hand pressed to her headset, murmuring something I couldn’t hear. She looked up briefly toward the jet bridge, then back down.
I didn’t think much of it. Airports were always full of little problems being sorted out.
« Ready, Em? »
« Ready! »
I didn’t think much of it.
I took her hand, warm and small in mine, and we walked toward the jet bridge together.
Buzz dangled from my daughter’s other hand, one plush wing brushing the carpet.
I whispered again, mostly to myself, « The window seat is waiting for you. »
I had no idea that everything I’d barely read that morning had already set the day in motion.
I took her hand.
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