Chloe watched him reach for two sealed bottles, then stop as an announcement interrupted the cabin music. Captain Adrian Brooks, a former naval aviator with a gentle speaking voice, told the passengers that the aircraft was approaching a winter jet stream and that conditions ahead might become rough. The seat belt sign illuminated before he finished. Isaac returned the bottles to the galley counter and began securing equipment, because that was the right response to a safety instruction, regardless of who was thirsty.
"Flight attendants, secure the galley," the captain said over the interphone. "Hot liquids and carts away. Be seated as soon as you're able."
Margaret heard the announcement from the rear and looked at Thomas. He had stopped conducting imaginary music. His eyes were fixed on the wing, and the muscles around his mouth had tightened. She knew he remembered the accident that had taken his father, and she could see the first signs of panic before the aircraft encountered the air the captain had warned them about.
"Listen to what the captain actually said," she told him. "He expects rough air. That means the crew can prepare. We'll do the same."
"How did you know he'd tell them to secure the hot drinks?"
"I've heard a few of these."
The first jolt came as they crossed the edge of the disturbed air. A cup rattled in an overhead holder, luggage shifted behind a latched bin, and Thomas grabbed both armrests. Margaret adjusted her belt and pressed her heels firmly against the floor. She did not pretend to be unafraid of discomfort; she simply knew the difference between movement that was unpleasant and evidence of something broken.
The aircraft dropped slightly and then rose. Thomas drew a sharp breath and looked through the window. The wing was moving, flexing visibly in the turbulent air, and his face lost color. For a terrible instant, he was twelve years old again, listening to adults speak in lowered voices about an aircraft that had never come home.
"The wing!" he cried. "It's going to break off!"
Several nearby passengers turned. Margaret reached toward his forearm without grabbing it. "Thomas, look at me. The wing is designed to flex. You don't need to fight the movement. Keep your belt fastened and breathe with me, slowly."
He stared at her as another bump passed through the cabin. "How can you be sure?"
"I can't promise a perfectly smooth ride," she said. "But what you're seeing is normal movement, not a wing coming apart. Watch the seat belt sign and listen for the crew. Right now we're doing what they asked us to do."
His breath came too quickly. Margaret counted softly for him, four beats in and a longer breath out, as she had learned to do for herself when Frank was in the hospital. She pointed out that the wing continued to move as a single intact structure and that the aircraft's attitude remained controlled. She kept her voice steady and her explanations plain, offering him something he could test against what he saw.