Beth and Evan always flew separately, for fear if something happened, their kids wouldn’t lose both of them. It seemed a morbid way to travel, she knew, but she felt in her bones that it was the right thing.
Evan joked that they didn’t travel separately by car when, statistically, automobiles were much more dangerous than airplanes.
As she looked out the window of the 767 at the clouds below — the wrong side of the clouds, an inner voice warned her — she was comfortable standing her ground on this subject.
She was looking forward to the vacation — a second honeymoon, with the kids at Evan’s parents — but she had dreaded the travel. There were good flyers, Evan had said, and then there was Beth.
This forced separation was a strain on her. Of course she would have liked to had Evan’s forearm to dig her nails into during the “slight” turbulence, rather than the business flyer who was currently her seat mate.
She was considering self-medicating from the liquor cart when the intercom popped on. “Folks, this is the pilot,” the tinny but practiced calm and reassuring voice said. “We don’t want to alarm you, but we’re getting some readings up here we don’t like, so we’re going to land at the nearest airport, check it out. Sorry for the delay, and thanks for your understanding and patience.”
Patience she had, as adrenaline blasted through her veins with nowhere to go. Understanding, however, just flew out the pressurized window.