A passenger behind them cleared his throat impatiently.
Training took over.
I bent, picked up Ryan's sunglasses, folded them carefully, and held them out to him.
"Sir, you'll need to keep the boarding area clear."
He took the glasses automatically.
"Valerie," he whispered.
I looked down at the boarding passes in Ashley's hand.
"Seats 2A and 2B. First class is to your left. Ms. Monroe, the overhead space above your row is still available."
Ashley's eyes widened.
That was how she learned I knew her name.
I knew it only because it was printed on the boarding pass.
But Ryan did not know that.
His face went even paler.
"Val, can we talk?"
I smiled professionally.
"Boarding is in progress, Mr. Carter. Please take your seat."
The passenger behind them was now openly watching. Ashley released Ryan's arm.
"Ryan," she said under her breath, "who is this?"
He looked at me as if he wanted me to rescue him from the answer.
I did not.
"Welcome aboard," I repeated.
He moved.
Ashley followed him into first class, but not before looking back at me with a face that had lost every trace of vacation excitement.
I continued boarding passengers.
That was the hardest part.
Not seeing him. Not seeing her. Continuing.
A family of four came next. I smiled at the children and directed them toward row eighteen. A college student asked whether she could check a guitar at the door. An older man needed help folding his walker. A woman with a service dog asked where the relief area had been in the terminal, even though we were already on the aircraft and there was nothing I could do about it now.
I answered everyone.
I performed my job exactly as I had performed it on hundreds of other flights.
Only my hands betrayed me once.
When I reached for the interphone to tell the captain boarding was nearly complete, my thumb missed the button by half an inch.
No one noticed except Lena Ortiz, the flight attendant working the forward cabin with me.
Lena was thirty-six, sharp-eyed, funny, and impossible to fool. We had flown together often enough that she could identify my moods by how tightly I rolled my sleeves before departure.
She glanced toward row two, then at me.
"You know 2A?" she asked quietly.
I checked the galley latch before answering.
"He's my husband."
Lena stopped moving.
Her eyes shifted to 2B.
"And she is?"
"Not his coworker."