Gaby
Gaby welcomed her passengers aboard the first of two sections of the flight to Miami, due to leave at midnight. The second was scheduled for departure forty-three minutes later.
The passengers’ names were on a seating chart, making it easy for Gaby to greet each one by name once they were seated. Mr. Venturini and Mr. Griffiths, friends headed to Fort Lauderdale for a week of fishing, asked if they could change seats. They wanted to sit together up front but had to settle for two in the same row at the rear of the plane. At least they didn’t make a fuss about it. A priest, Father Good, sat at the emergency exit. He looked young and strong. He could handle it if he had to. Gaby wondered if he’d become a priest because of his name.
She had seen a married couple kissing goodbye at the gate. “See you in Miami, darling,” the husband had said. Now the wife, sitting in the second row, explained to Gaby that she and her husband were celebrating their tenth anniversary but they never traveled on the same plane. This was nothing new to Gaby. Many couples flew separately. That way, if something bad happened, the children would be left with at least one parent. Some of them even divided the children, the wife flying with one, the husband with the other. Gaby wondered if she’d do the same. She didn’t think so. She was no Nervous Nellie. She was a professional. Besides, flying was safer than driving.
She hung up the passengers’ coats and handed out magazines. Neither of the two honeymoon couples wanted anything to read. They’d probably smooch all the way to Miami or else fall asleep from the stress of the wedding and arrive too tired to fully enjoy their wedding night. Not that Gaby was anyone to comment on that.
It was too late for a dinner flight. She’d be serving just a midnight snack and a beverage. Many of her passengers would sleep all the way to Miami. She’d probably have to tap their shoulders to wake them, saying, We’ve arrived, sir.
She delivered the paperwork to the cockpit. The captain was in the left seat, copilot in the right, flight engineer in the jump seat. He was engaged to one of the stewardesses from Gaby’s class. All three were gentlemen. She’d flown with them many times. They kept their hands to themselves, which was more than she could say about some crews. She had to laugh when she thought about her fantasy pilot, Scotty Champion—if he existed she hadn’t met him yet. And now that she knew something about a pilot’s life she wasn’t interested in marrying one—someday, when she was ready to get married, that is.
“Miss,” one of her passengers, an anxious older woman in an aisle seat, called, “when can I use the restroom?”
“Do you need to use it?” Gaby asked.
“No. I’m just thinking ahead.”
“After we take off and reach our cruising altitude, you’ll be free to get up and use the restroom.” Gaby smiled, trying to reassure her, betting this was her first flight.
“It’s my first time flying,” she told Gaby. “I’m visiting my son and daughter-in-law. They have a new baby.”
“That’s lovely, Mrs. Iverson,” Gaby said. The passengers loved it when she called them by name.
Mrs. Iverson held up a tiny sweater she was knitting. “Do you think babies need sweaters in Miami?”
“I’m sure they do. I’ve worn sweaters, myself, especially in the evening.”
She gave Mrs. Iverson two years, max, before she, too, made Florida her home. When Mrs. Iverson reached for Gaby’s hand, Gaby let her hold it. “The weather’s perfect all the way down,” she said in a reassuring voice. “You’ll get to see the moon. You just relax and breathe through your nose.” Mrs. Iverson nodded. Gaby patted her hand. “It will be so smooth you’ll probably fall asleep and when you wake up you’ll be in Miami.”
—
SHE HANDED OUT silver wings to the children, always a big hit, and a deck of playing cards to anyone who wanted them. A mother and her teenage daughter took a pack. “Gin?” the mother asked her daughter, as she shuffled the cards.
“You know I always beat you,” the daughter said.
“Maybe tonight’s my lucky night,” the mother said, laughing.
So far, no drunks. That was good news. A late-night flight meant drinking at the bar in the departure lounge before boarding, which could translate into trouble on board.
Tomorrow Gaby could lie on the beach all day, soaking up the winter sun. Never mind what her mother said about the sun ruining her skin. How would her mother know? She’d never sunbathed. She’d never been to Miami.