On that Indigo Eve: 496

The engines roared softly behind us and the plane nosed upward into the wild blue yonder amid a gentle rumbling. That lull which always comes to stop every conversation as the passengers subconsciously and collectively hold their breath, filled the plane. In a moment we were up, a miracle of engineering that never failed to thrill me, no matter how many times I experienced it.  I glanced over at my seatmate, and stifled a smile. Her eyes were practically nonexistent, they were squeezed so completely shut. Her knuckles were pale from that steel-boned grip on the armrests and her foot was tapping rapidly to inaudible fiddle music. Nervous flyers amused me. I flew often and had ever since I’d been a kid. The miracle wasn’t lost on me, but the nerves were. And for that I was thankful.

I settled in for the long trip, reclining my seat and pulling out a long-awaited novel, eagerly anticipating eight hours of uninterrupted adventure among the cream-colored pages of my favorite author’s newest release. About forty minutes into the flight Richard Decanter was in the midst of battling his client’s assassin atop the Empire State Building, when I happened to glance over at my companion. Her eyes were still locked behind a layer of thick lashes and she seemed to be mouthing the same sentence over and over again. I poked her arm and she looked as if I’d sent an electric current running through her body.

“Ever flown before?” I asked, although I found it hard to believe that a modern girl in her twenties could have made it that far in life without flying.

She nodded. “Yes, too much.”

I laughed. “I didn’t know it was possible for a person to fly too much.”

She shook her head and sighed. “Well it is. I’m bad for the flight business. Last time I was on a plane we nose dived to avoid lightning. And the time before that the pilot had to make an emergency landing in a field in Iowa. And before that two of the engines failed and the plane ended up on fire by the time we got to Toronto. And before that we had to stay in the air for seven extra hours because of bad weather.”

I didn’t like where this was going, and I felt those long forgotten nerves bubbling up inside me. I’d never heard of anyone with such bad luck, although I wasn’t usually the type to consider luck of any kind a major factor in my life.

“Well, you’ve certainly had some adventures haven’t you?” I smiled weakly.

She laughed at my face. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have told you. But at least the odds indicate that no matter what happens, we’ll probably survive. I mean, I’ve made history so many times, why stop now?”

I swallowed, laying my book aside. Richard Decanter would have to wait until I’d cheated death and made it to the other side of the Atlantic.