“Absolutely,” says Ellie. “Good job! You probably need a glass of water.”
“Hydration is so important at my age,” says the lady thoughtfully.
“Very important. You sit down and I’ll bring you one straightaway,” says Ellie. Allegra may have underestimated Ellie.
“Thank you,” says the lady. “With ice, please.”
“No problem,” says Ellie.
“I’m exhausted,” the lady confides to Allegra as she leads her back to her seat.
“Me too,” says Allegra.
Allegra feels the curious sideways glances of passengers. The baby is quiet. No one speaks or calls out. The atmosphere is like a classroom after a teacher’s lost their temper.
The lady sits, capably buckles her seat belt, sighs.
Ellie appears with a plastic cup of ice water, which she hands to Allegra.
Allegra can now see Anders at the rear of the plane, apparently fine again, smiling and charming, back doing his job, leaning over to help get someone’s seat into the upright position.
“There you go,” says Allegra. She hands the cup to the lady, who drinks thirstily.
There is an empty seat next to her, which is fortunate, and the man in the window seat is busy packing away his laptop.
“Are you feeling okay?” asks Allegra.
“I’m in excellent health,” says the lady. “I take no medication whatsoever.”
Might want to reconsider that, thinks Allegra.
“We’ll be in Sydney soon, so—”
The lady points at Allegra’s forehead. Her voice has become mumbly, as if a drug is taking effect. “I expect self-harm, age…age…twenty…”
Her voice fades. She looks down at the cup.
“Twenty what?” says Allegra in spite of herself. She leans closer, glancing at the man in the window seat to make sure he’s not witnessing her unprofessional interest in her own fortune, but he’s still busy packing away his laptop.
The lady rests her head against her seat. Her hand still grips the plastic cup. Her eyes close.
Self-harm. The phrase slithers into Allegra’s consciousness like a parasite. She sees the mustard-colored walls of a small room coming toward her from all sides. That childhood sensation of her nose pressed flat, bones crushed, the air squeezed from her body.
The lady opens her eyes very briefly.
She says, “Age twenty-eight.”
The pilot says, “Cabin crew, please be seated for landing.”
Chapter 23
I have learned it was the beautiful flight attendant’s twenty-eighth birthday that day.
My gift to her was to predict she would take her own life before she turned twenty-nine. If only I’d predicted a long happy life and a natural death. That would have been kinder. More festive.
Honestly, sometimes I feel so ashamed I can hardly breathe.
Chapter 24
It has just occurred to me that I haven’t yet introduced myself.
I apologize. One should always introduce oneself quickly!
I once met a woman at an industry function who said, “Hello, I’m Jan.” Her name may or may not have been Jan, I can’t recall. Don’t concern yourself, it was an unexceptional name.
I said, “Hello, Jan.” I said it nicely, although I admit I may not have smiled. I was in the process of pulling out my chair to sit down next to her while carrying a glass of white wine, a jacket, my handbag, and a tall metal table number for my dinner order. My number was seven, which is not my favorite number, but it’s likely yours. Most people pick seven if asked their favorite number. My favorite number is zero.
I had ordered the pesto linguine. It was not good.
Anyhow, this woman chuckled crossly and snapped, “Are you going to tell me your name?”
I was going to tell her my name! I know how introductions work! I just needed a second to compose myself and sit down.
Well.
It was a long time ago. I really should have forgotten such a trivial incident by now. It’s just that I’m overly sensitive about any perceived criticism of my social skills. They don’t come easily to some of us, and hurtful jokes are often made about my profession, people like me, coming across as “strange,” “weird,” or even “scary.”
I will certainly introduce myself. Quick smart!
