Rachel approached again while Denise checked the list.
“I was trying to avoid a seating conflict,” she told Marcus.
“Was there another passenger assigned to 2A?”
“I thought there might be.”
“Had you checked?”
She didn’t answer.
The man across the aisle put his phone down.
“She showed the boarding pass,” he said. “I heard her ask for it to be checked.”
Marcus nodded to him, then looked back at Rachel.
“I’ll need you to give Denise your account before departure.”
Rachel’s eyes widened. “Right now?”
“Yes.”
Denise returned with the cabin list. My name was beside 2A. A gate agent confirmed the reservation a minute later. Marcus had bought it three weeks earlier. There had been no change.
The answer took less time than the argument had.
I heard Rachel say, “I’m sorry for the confusion.”
She was looking at Marcus.
I waited for her to turn toward me. She didn’t.
Marcus noticed. “Mom, would you like me to stay?”
“No,” I said. “Go do your work.”
He touched my shoulder. His hand was warm.
“I’ll see you in Chicago.”
He returned to the cockpit. Denise asked Rachel to come with her to the galley. The gate agent remained near the door, speaking into a radio.
Boarding resumed around me. The woman who had been trapped in the aisle placed her suitcase overhead and sat across from me.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” she whispered.
“Thank you.”
I looked out the window so she wouldn’t see my eyes fill.
I had wanted Marcus to see me sitting there, proud of him. Instead, his first sight of me had been a flight attendant telling him I didn’t belong.
A few minutes later, Denise came back. She told me my seat was confirmed and asked whether I needed anything.
“Could I have some water?”
“Of course.”
When she handed me the glass, her voice softened.
“I should have checked the pass when I first came over. I’m sorry.”
She had tried. Rachel hadn’t let her.
“You checked it when you could,” I said.
I watched her return to the galley. Rachel was standing there with the gate agent. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but I saw Rachel gesture toward me.
My hands tightened around the glass.
The man across the aisle leaned toward me. He introduced himself as David Price. He had recorded part of the exchange after Rachel raised her voice.
“I thought you might want it,” he said.
I didn’t know whether I did.
“Please don’t post it,” I told him.
“I won’t. I can send it to you if you want a copy.”
I wrote down my email address. I had taught children long enough to know that memories could change when people became frightened of consequences. A recording might matter.
The gate agent came to my seat.
“Ms. Carter, your ticket is valid,” she said. “We apologize for the delay.”
I thanked her, though I wanted to ask why Rachel had been so sure.