“Patches . . .” he began, confused, but then a spark of memory ignited. “Oh! Yes. They’re for nausea; I gave them to myself.” She opened her mouth and, anticipating her question, he spoke again. “I spent yesterday on a boat.”
She grinned, one cheek rent by a deep dimple. “I was actually going to ask why you were wearing so many of them. Did someone tell you to put them all on?”
“Oh! No, obviously that would be a ridiculous thing to do. Uh, I don’t know—I’m not sure, actually—how many of them was I wearing?”
This time she laughed. “A bunch,” she said. She began talking—something about Alice in Wonderland and poisoning and whether or not he’d been sweaty—but it was too difficult to follow, so he let his mind wander. Eventually she stopped and waited for him to say something. He tried to think of an intelligent question.
“So I poisoned me? It wasn’t someone else?”
“I’m pretty sure it was you,” she said, grinning. His stomach, which had been roiling with the ferocity of a tropical depression, produced an audible rumble. She stiffened. “Uh-oh.”
“Take cover,” he managed. When the vomiting ended, he let out a feeble gasp or two, sounding even to himself like an extricated fish in its final throes. Eventually he recovered enough to assess the damage, which was worse than he’d thought. He’d barfed on her feet.
“It’s okay,” she assured him. Her shoes appeared to be constructed out of some clear material, reminding him of Cinderella’s slippers. She slipped one off and sponged it down, flicking away a bright pink oblong that appeared to be an undigested Benadryl. “People have vomited worse stuff on me,” she said. “This was mostly water.”
“I’m sorry,” he groaned.
“I bet you’ll be feeling much better now. They’re going to transport you to the airport’s medical facility when we land, and I’m pretty sure you’re going to be fine.”
“Okay,” he said, a bit uncertainly. An idea struck. “Would you like to have dinner?”
“No,” she said. Before his disappointment could register, she added kindly, “It’s nearly morning.”
“Yes, I realize that,” he said in a sudden surge of clarity, “but here’s my motto: carpe diem.”
“Carpe diem is your motto?”
Another long pause while he searched for a word: the art of conversation seemed to be returning to him in fits and lurches. Then: “Yes.”
“But carpe diem is a bit overused as a motto, isn’t it?” she asked, her body easing from its rigid posture of a moment ago. She handed over another drink of water, and this time he managed it neatly.
“I have losh—lots—of mottos, actually,” he said, “but I try to tailor them to the situation.”
She gestured toward the nearest acrylic window in the wall of the jet, through which they could see an oval of dark sky. “In that case, technically, I think you mean carpe noctem,” she offered.
His eyebrows rose in appreciation. “You speak Latin?”
She tilted a freckled hand back and forth in the universal gesture for so-so. “I’m a doctor. I don’t speak Latin so much as use it to keep other people from understanding me.”
A doctor. She didn’t look like Mark’s idea of a doctor, but it explained why she’d been drafted to rescue him. “In that case, I exchange my motto for a better one. Felix culpa.”
“Felix culpa? Happy . . . Guilt? I might have to look that one up.”
Mark decided to go for it. “Before you do that, I want you to know I’m very serious about the dinner. Or breakfast. I’d love to see you again.”
Her face went still for a second, so subtly he wondered if he’d imagined it. But no, he was a good judge of faces: for whatever reason, she didn’t want him to ask her out. His gaze slid to her hand again. She’d said point-blank she wasn’t married. Was she gay? He didn’t have the most functional gaydar in the world but he wasn’t clueless either; he felt certain she was straight. She must not find him appealing. A wash of warmth colored his cheeks. “But of course,” he said, “you must already have plans.”
“It’s a nice offer,” she said, her expression softening at his embarrassment. “Thank you, I’d love to grab some food once you’re, ah, medically cleared, if there’s time.”
“Of course,” he said, stupidly. He could not think of anything else to say.
“So, my turn to ask about you,” she said, picking up the conversational slack. “What’s—”
She paused as another face appeared above them: thin eyebrows angling precipitously toward one another, a bow of pursed lips. A flight attendant. “Thank you so much for your assistance, Doctor.” She leaned down, thrusting out a bony hand to clap his caregiver on the shoulder. “I think he’s doing well now, and we’re beginning our approach into Frankfurt, so do you mind returning to your seat?”
“I don’t,” said Mark’s new friend, “but I’m going to accompany him to the airport clinic when we land. Assuming that is okay with you,” she added, looking at him.
“It is,” he said, pleased. He watched as she made her way up the aisle toward the front of the plane, turning midway to direct a glance over her shoulder.
With her departure, he took stock: his head ached and his body felt battered, and a heavy drowsiness still suffused him, but his mind felt much clearer. Even under the best of circumstances, he tended to tolerate jet lag poorly, usually spending the last portions of long flights in a drooly stupor, not quite able to sleep but not firing on all cylinders either. He tried to look on the bright side: at least on this flight he’d gotten plenty of rest. His thoughts swerved back to the woman who’d been caring for him and a strange sensation shot through him. By the time he’d identified it as interest it had already been replaced with a sense of loss. No matter how attractive he found this woman, the chances they lived near one another were slim. Still, though: you never knew.
5
THE SCIENTIFIC AND MATHEMATICAL EMBLEM OF CHANGE
Georgia watched through her neighbor’s window as the plane touched down onto a gray tarmac in Frankfurt amid skies the color of a stainless steel refrigerator, everything glinting silver from the shrouded rays of the sun. As soon as the wheels hit the runway, the army of drowsy passengers mobilized, unbuckling their seatbelts in clear defiance of airline policy as they leaned toward the aisle in preparation to fight their way out. Georgia contemplated muscling through the throng to reach the paramedics who’d been called to meet the plane, but it was useless; her seat was in the middle of the plane, and both aisles had jammed with people the instant the plane came to a full stop. She decided to catch up as soon as she exited the jetway.