She was sitting by the window, staring outside, clutching an old brown leather purse tightly against her chest.
“You okay?”
“Perfectly.”
But I could see that she wasn’t.
Her hands were shaking.
Around twenty minutes later, the cockpit door opened.
One of the pilots stepped into the cabin and quietly spoke with a flight attendant.
She pointed toward the rear of the plane.
Then the pilot began walking down the aisle.
Slowly.
Row after row.
Looking carefully at the passengers.
When he reached Grandma, he stopped.
She looked up.
The pilot’s expression changed instantly.
Then his eyes dropped to her purse.
My grandmother gave up the first-class seat I bought for her and moved to economy instead. I was annoyed—until a pilot walked through the cabin looking specifically for her.
