The first hour passed without trouble. Clouds obscured the ground soon after takeoff, and the engine noise settled into a steady, comforting rhythm. Margaret read several poems, then rested the book in her lap to study Thomas's hands as he traced musical notes on the edge of his paperback. He was conducting silently, she realized, trying to give his anxiety something with a pattern to follow.
"Do you teach music?" she asked.
"Middle school band. Mostly kids who think a trumpet is a machine for testing adult patience."
Margaret smiled. "A worthy profession."
"Some days I wonder."
"Every useful profession has days like that."
He told her about his school, about a student named Aaron who had practiced his clarinet on a borrowed instrument with two sticky keys, and about the concert they were rehearsing for spring. As Thomas spoke, his shoulders relaxed. Margaret listened, asking questions that kept him focused on the students he cared about rather than the engine sounds outside. For a while the two of them traveled comfortably through the ordinary air between strangers who had discovered something worth discussing.
When the first beverage service reached row thirty-four, Chloe saw Miller offer Taylor two drinks and a folded blanket. The man accepted without looking up from his tablet. Chloe was carrying the cart toward the rear when Miller stepped out from the galley and caught the handle with one hand. He checked that the aisle behind them was empty before he spoke.
"Service ends at thirty-seven," he said. "I already told you."
"The passenger in thirty-eight A asked for water before departure."
"Then she should have asked before she made everyone wait."
"She didn't make anyone wait. We departed on time."
His eyes hardened. "Are we going to repeat the entire conversation, Anderson?"
Chloe looked down the aisle. She could see Margaret reading, Thomas beside her, and another passenger in 38C sleeping with a scarf tucked around her shoulders. None of them looked like trouble. None of them knew that their access to service was being weighed against a review that had not yet been written.
"No, sir," she said, and pushed the cart forward.
She stopped at row thirty-seven, served the passengers there, and looked toward Margaret. Margaret did not press the call button. She merely raised her eyes when Chloe glanced back, as though to say that she understood what had happened and would not ask the young woman to risk her job for a glass of water. That understanding made Chloe feel worse than an angry complaint would have.
Returning the cart to the galley, she passed Isaac. He noticed that the service drawers remained partly full and quietly counted the rows that had been served. His expression grew tight. When he asked whether everything had been completed, Chloe told him the truth in a whisper.
"I'll take water down there," he said.
"Miller will know."
"Let him. I'm not on probation."