I moved my handbag off the middle seat.
"For the next six hours, anyway."
"Looks like we're neighbors."
He smiled. "I'm Josh."
"Celeste."
He was broad-shouldered, perhaps 50, and wore an expensive-looking quarter-zip sweater with polished loafers.
"You got the good seat," he said, nodding toward my window.
"My daughter insisted. She thought I'd enjoy looking at the clouds."
"She's probably right."
"You got the good seat."
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.
He had a paperback tucked under his arm.
I settled in.
***
It was my first long trip alone since my husband, Steven, died the previous year.
We'd traveled together for 34 years. I could manage without him, but everything felt a little different.
