My husband, Terrence, is a pilot, and in twelve years of marriage, he had never missed our anniversary. Not once.
But this year, his crew schedule put him in the cockpit of a Coastal Skyways flight on the exact evening we were supposed to be celebrating.
He felt terrible when he found out. He kept saying he’d make it up to me, but I already had a plan of my own.
He kept saying he’d make it up to me, but I already had a plan of my own.
The flight was only ninety minutes, Ashport Regional to Cedar Bluff Municipal, so I bought myself a ticket on his plane without telling him a single word. I curled my hair, wore the red dress he loved from our very first date, and got ready to surprise him the second we landed.
At the gate, I nearly ruined everything when I saw him standing near the jet bridge in his uniform, laughing easily with the first officer. My heart jumped like I was twenty-six again, meeting him for the first time at that same airport a lifetime ago, and I ducked behind a pillar so he wouldn’t spot me.
My heart jumped like I was twenty-six again.
I boarded with the last group, slipped into seat 14C, pulled my hair forward, and kept my face down as I passed the cockpit door. The cabin doors closed. The plane pushed back from the gate.
Then Terrence’s voice came over the speaker.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain.”
I smiled to myself like an idiot, waiting for the usual announcement — altitude, weather, estimated arrival time, the same steady cadence I’d fallen asleep listening to on a hundred different flights over the years.
But then he paused.
But then he paused.
