My ten-year-old found it for me, a few miles up, before I did.

Chapter 3 — Already Comfortable

She looked to be in her early fifties.

She had designer sunglasses pushed up on top of her head, a beige trench coat spread out across my seat as though it were a garment bag on a bed, and an enormous leather tote taking up a good part of the aisle.

She had slipped her shoes off, and she had one bare foot propped up against the wall of the airplane, and the whole arrangement of her said, without a single word, that she considered this aircraft to be hers, and the rest of us to be guests in it.

“Excuse me,” I said, as calmly as I could with a sleeping baby strapped to my chest.