“There was already a scene.”
Janet began to cry.
“I know that now.”
The interviews continued throughout the day. By evening, Meridian had suspended Sandra pending investigation and removed David from gate supervisory duty. They had not yet fired anyone. Corporate counsel advised against instant decisions based solely on public anger. The company needed a documented process, not another performance.
That distinction frustrated social media. People wanted immediate firing. Some wanted criminal charges. Others wanted Sandra’s photograph circulated permanently so no airline would hire her again.
Marcus saw one post suggesting she should “learn what it feels like to have her life ripped up in public.” He turned off his phone. At six that evening, he finally returned home to Alexandria. His house was a narrow brick townhome on a quiet street lined with sycamores. The moment he opened the door, silence met him.
Marcus lived alone. He had been divorced for six years, amicably enough that his former wife still texted him reminders about mutual friends’ birthdays. They had married young and discovered gradually that love and compatibility were not always the same skill. There were no children, a fact Marcus sometimes regretted and sometimes recognized as one of those alternate lives people imagine too clearly.
His sister Denise called before he removed his shoes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Marcus leaned against the wall.
“Hello, Denise.”
“I found out from CNN that some woman ripped up your passport.”
“I was busy.”
“You couldn’t text?”
“I got on a train.”
“That is not a medical emergency excuse.”
Marcus smiled despite himself.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“I’m tired.”
“You’re famous.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I’m serious. Mama would have lost her mind.”
That stopped him. Lorraine Williams had died eight years earlier. Pancreatic cancer. Fast.
Denise’s voice softened.
“She would have been proud of you.”
“For getting yelled at in an airport?”
“For not yelling back.”
Marcus looked toward the framed photograph on his bookshelf. His mother in a red cardigan, laughing at something beyond the camera.
“She would have yelled,” he said.
Denise laughed.
“That woman would have turned gate B12 into a civics lesson and assigned homework.”
Marcus finally laughed too. Then the sound broke somewhere in the middle. He sat down. Denise heard it.
“You okay?”
Marcus covered his eyes with one hand.
“No.”
He had said the same thing to Malik the night before. This time the word opened something.
“I keep seeing everyone’s faces.”