The Woman in 3B - Eliza Lentzski Page 0,17

you needed a college degree to be a flight attendant.”

I shook my head. “You don’t. It’s actually only a six-week class and then we’re certified.”

My airline had provided the six-weeks of formal training for me to earn the FAA’s Certificate of Demonstrated Proficiency. Students are required to achieve a 90 percent or higher to pass each exam. The final exam included a mock flight where we had to pretend to perform our regular duties and then handle an in-flight emergency. My final test had included a simulated water landing not long after beverage service.

Anissa cocked an interested eyebrow. “Six-weeks? That seems really fast.”

“Nervous about flying now?” I teased. In reality, we were continually retested and recertified while on the job.

“As long as you can help me inflate my lifejacket, I think I’ll be okay,” she laughed back. “Speaking of which …” she murmured, more to herself than to me. She retrieved her leather bag from the ground and spent a moment searching its contents. She eventually fished out a small plastic bottle, removed its cap, and popped a small pill into her mouth.

I watched her wash down the white pill with a sip from her bottled water. Our eyes connected when she returned the plastic bottle to her bag; I realized I’d been rudely staring.

“Dramamine,” she explained. “I get terrible motion sickness on planes.”

“And yet you have to fly for your job?” I wondered aloud. “That sounds less than ideal.”

“Not much I can do about it until they invent teleportation.”

“And then I’d be out of a job,” I laughed.

“Good point,” she chuckled.

Anissa returned to eating her lunch. Our back-and-forth conversation had left little opportunity for either of us to really eat. Her lips wrapped around the leafy greens dangling from the tines of her plastic fork. I found myself staring intensely at her mouth while she ate. Her mouth was drawn wide with full lips and white, even teeth. She wore no lipstick; her lips were naturally the color of dusty pink rose petals. There was a slight divot in the center of her lower lip that she touched with the tip of her tongue every so often.

Anissa set down her fork. “Hold still,” she instructed, her face suddenly becoming serious.

“What? Is there something on my face?” I became horrified at the thought that part of my meal might have been clinging to my face this whole time.

“No. It’s your wings.”

The words still made no sense until Anissa was leaning across the table and narrowing the space between us. My body stiffened at the unexpected proximity. Her outstretched hand traveled the rest of the distance and my breath caught in my throat when her fingers lightly touched my uniform, close to the top of my right breast.

My flight crew pin had become twisted with the silver wings vertical instead of horizontal. It was the kind of detail Kent would have scolded me about on our next flight. Anissa turned the pin in place and returned the wings to their correct position.

I let out the breath I’d been holding when she settled back in her chair.

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t trying to cop a feel,” she smirked.

I anxiously tucked hair behind my ears and felt everything burn red. “Or at least buy me dinner first,” I tried to joke.

“I thought I’d already done that,” she smartly returned.

CHAPTER FOUR

I frowned at my cellphone screen while traveling down the jet bridge to my first flight of the morning. My cellphone had been busy all morning with passive aggressive texts from my sister, Dawn.

I thought you’d like to know that June is graduating from Daisies to Brownies tomorrow. Not that you have time for milestones like that.

We’re planning a vacation with the kids soon. Tell me your flight schedule so maybe we can arrange to see you at the airport since you’re too busy to see us away from work.

Your niece and nephew are starting to forget what you look like.

Fridays were actually a Friday for me that month, meaning I didn’t have scheduled flights on Saturdays or Sundays, but I was still on call. I couldn’t promise my sister that I’d be at the next youth soccer game or chess tournament or bake sale without hurting someone’s feelings when I inevitably got called in to work.

“Morning,” a voice called to me from inside the plane.

I paused just short of the aircraft’s door when I spotted the one person I hadn’t expected to see. Lara Pierson, the flight attendant with whom I’d enjoyed a brief