“My daughter insisted. She thought I’d enjoy looking at the clouds.”
“She’s probably right.”
The older gentleman in the aisle seat introduced himself as Henry. He had a paperback tucked under his arm.
“Vacation?” Henry asked.
“Something better. I’m meeting my first granddaughter.”
“Congratulations!”
“Thank you. I’ve already seen enough photographs to fill an album.”
Both men laughed.
I settled in.
It was my first long trip alone since my husband, Steven, died the previous year.
We’d traveled together for thirty-four years. I could manage without him, but everything felt a little different.
My daughter, Marianne, had called twice that morning.
“Mom, you’re sure you’ve got everything?”
“Marianne, I’m sixty-one, not six.”
She laughed.
Before takeoff, I looked at the photograph she’d sent of baby Rose.
My granddaughter was asleep with one fist tucked beside her cheek.
I couldn’t wait to hold her.
