The Woman in Seat 18B
The flight was nearly full.
Because I had booked late, Hadley’s assigned seat was directly behind mine. I was in 18C with Theo, while she sat in 19C.
I hated the arrangement, but Hadley insisted she was fine.
“I’m eight, Mom. I’m basically a professional traveler.”
“You have flown three times.”
“Exactly. Experience.”
The woman in the middle seat beside me arrived several minutes later.
She looked to be in her late sixties, elegant and carefully dressed in a charcoal blazer, cream blouse, tailored pants, and pearl earrings.
Her name, I later learned, was Marianne Voss.
At that moment, all I knew was that she looked at Theo the way someone might look at a thundercloud approaching an outdoor wedding.
She placed her handbag beneath the seat, buckled herself in, then nodded toward my baby.
“Does he cry a lot?”
The question surprised me.
“He’s usually pretty calm.”
Marianne sighed.
“That’s what parents always say.”[]
I tried to let it go.
Theo was watching the ceiling lights as though they were the most fascinating things he had ever seen.
From behind us, Hadley leaned forward between the seats.
“He only cries when he needs something.”
Marianne glanced back.
“Most babies do.”
Hadley smiled pleasantly.
“Then I guess that means he’s normal.”
I immediately turned around.
“Hadley.”
She sat back.
Marianne opened a magazine.
I thought that would be the end of it.
I was wrong.
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