My daughter, Marianne, had called twice that morning.
"Mom, you're sure you've got everything?"
"Marianne, I'm 61, not six."
We'd traveled together for 34 years.
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.
***
My pleasant flight lasted about 20 minutes.
Josh's knee first pressed against mine shortly after takeoff.
I couldn't wait to hold her.
I shifted toward the window, assuming he hadn't noticed.
His leg followed.
"Excuse me. Could you move your knee a little?"
He glanced down.
Then he laughed.
"Lady, look at you. You're tiny. You don't need all that space."
I shifted toward the window.
I thought he was joking.
He wasn't.
"Well, I paid for the whole seat.
He moved his knee back an inch.
Thirty seconds later, it returned.
I opened my book, hoping he'd settle down.
