Chapter 1: Pre-Boarding

Steve Carter slowly made his way down the center aisle of Flight 583, an Airbus 320. Just past the first-class partition, he stowed his crutch against the side wall and collapsed into seat 4F, the window seat on the left side, as you faced toward the back of the plane. He paid extra for a so-called “Economy Plus” seat with a few more inches for his knees and more freedom around his badly sprained ankle.

After the other passengers, like him, who needed extra assistance finished settling into other rows, he watched the first-class passengers file in and take five out of the six seats. Steve noticed an attractive woman in 3A, just ahead and on his left. Simultaneously, they caught each other’s eyes and she stood back up and moved toward him.

“I’m Lisa, and both seats 3A and 3B are mine. So, please, come up and sit with me. You’ll be a lot more comfortable in these big, cushy leather seats.”

“Are you sure? I can get by where I am.”

“I’m very sure, 3B is an STBX seat.”

“I’m sorry, a what?”

“I’ll explain, once we’re in the air. Let’s get you in here with me before the stampede begins. I’ll explain it to the flight attendant. I’ll bet there’s somebody toward the back who could move to 4F and enjoy the extra room. What’s your name?”

“Lisa, I’m Steve Carter. You’re very kind; I appreciate it.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, neither of us has a Texas accent. You’re going home to San Francisco?”

“I am, but not inside the city. I have an apartment about 30 miles to the north.”

The familiar and mandatory droning lecture interrupted their conversation. Every year, it seemed, the dire threats became more extreme concerning the security of the bathroom smoke detectors.

“Next year, they will threaten to cut off the smoker’s hands.”

“One of my faults, Steve, is that I pry. Is there a Mrs. Carter? Any little Carters?”

“No one has taken me off the shelf and looked for my price tag. It’s my fault. I’m very shy. I wouldn’t have spoken to you, but you dragged me up here to the flying penthouse.”

Lisa narrowed her eyes.

“You’re telling me you haven’t been going out with women? Or, are you indirectly suggesting a question of orientation?”

“Oh, no, I’m straight as a ruler. I think people hear ‘San Francisco’ and make assumptions.”

“But, Steve, you’re so—you’re too pretty, oops, handsome, to be both unattached AND straight.”

He drawled in a Hollywood cowboy accent, “Wall, thank ye, ma’am. That’s raht kind of y’all to say,” and put two fingers up to tap the brim of an imaginary Stetson.

The engines spooled up and forced their torsos back into the soft seats; the nose of the aircraft tilted upwards and their flight was underway. Minutes later, the noise lessened, and they could talk more easily.