“I’m not feeling well,” I said, pushing the tray away. “My stomach is upset.”
Jessica’s frustration leaked through. “Mom, you need to eat something. You’re going to be weak.”
“I’ll eat when we land,” I replied, and closed my eyes.
I didn’t sleep. I listened. I heard Jessica shift beside me. Heard the rustle of her purse. Heard Brandon’s foot tapping anxiously across the aisle.
Around us, other passengers dozed or watched movies, completely unaware of what was unfolding in row 12.
The third attempt came 2 hours in. I returned from the restroom to find a steaming cup of chamomile tea on my tray table.
“The flight attendant left it for you,” Jessica said brightly. “I told her you love chamomile.”
I picked up the cup and examined the tea bag wrapper beside it. The seal had been torn open. Not factory-torn, but manually opened. The edges slightly crumpled.
“Too many herbs make me jittery,” I said, setting it down untouched.
Jessica’s voice turned sharp. “You’re being ridiculous, Mom.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I know what I like.”
Brandon leaned across the aisle. “Mrs. Thompson, would you like some gum? Helps with the cabin pressure.”
“No, thank you.”
Jessica tried again 20 minutes later. “Mom, I brought your allergy medicine. You left it on the counter this morning. I grabbed it for you.”
She held out a small pill and a bottle of water. I looked at the pill. It was round and white, but my allergy medication was oblong and pale yellow.
“I already took one before we left,” I lied.
Her hand trembled as she put the pill back in her bag. I saw panic flash across her face.
3 hours into the flight, I watched Jessica check her phone obsessively. Every few minutes she’d pull it out, stare at the screen, her face growing paler. Her breathing was shallow, almost gasping.
She leaned toward Brandon and whispered urgently. “She’s not cooperating. Nothing is working.”
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