“Really?” Simone studied an innocent-looking dark chocolate square. “So, I just eat it?”
“Yes. Go ahead and eat one now. Are you at your gate for the Paris flight yet?”
Simone sighed. “No . . . I, uh, I wasn’t sure I could do that.”
“You can. You know you want to go to France. Eat one chocolate right now, then get yourself to your next gate. The herbs take about thirty minutes to kick in. After you’re aboard the plane, if you still feel anxious, have another chocolate.”
“I don’t know about this.” She sniffed the chocolate. “You’re not just pulling my leg? Planting chocolate as a placebo?”
“No, of course not. Eat it and get to the next gate.”
Simone popped a square into her mouth. “Tastes like chocolate.”
“It is chocolate—and more. Now you need to head for your gate.” Andrea spoke in the same tone she used while getting her girls ready for bed. “Take your time. Get settled in. Maybe find yourself something good to eat. And get some water or juice—no coffee—then just sit down and relax. And, oh yeah, don’t forget to use the restroom. Then just read your workbook, breathe deeply, and call me if you need to. But you can do this, Simone. I know you can.”
Simone wasn’t so sure, but hearing Andrea’s calm voice helped. Or maybe the chocolate was already kicking in. But as she stood, she assured Andrea she’d give it her best shot. Another calming breath and she set out to find the next gate. Maybe she could do this after all. And if not, she would just cut her losses and go home.
It seemed slightly miraculous, not to mention surreal, when Simone found herself seated on her next flight. It was a larger, more comfortable plane, and it even smelled good. The music was pleasing and the flight attendants polite. All in all, everything seemed much, much better. Or maybe it was her. Or more likely the chocolate. Thanks to Andrea’s counsel, assuring her it couldn’t hurt, Simone had now consumed three squares, and her anxiety level, though still nibbling at her heels, seemed to have shrunk considerably. According to Andrea she would be dozing off soon. Hopefully before takeoff.
“Hello.” A dark-haired man in a brown tweed jacket smiled down at Simone. “This seat taken?”
She blinked. “Aren’t the seats assigned?”
“Sorry. My pathetic attempt at humor.” He chuckled as he shoved a leather bag overhead. “That’s my seat next to you.”
“Oh, right . . . I’m not a very seasoned flyer.” She forced an embarrassed smile as he slid into the middle seat, but felt relieved she’d made her last restroom stop, taking time to put on some deodorant, brush her teeth, and freshen up some.
“I haven’t flown anywhere myself lately. Not for at least five years.” He fumbled to buckle his seat belt. “But at least this plane’s roomier than I remember. That’s because it’s an international flight.”
“Well, it feels better than my flight here—that was a nightmare.” She tried not to obsess over the term international flight. Was she really about to fly over an ocean?
“A nightmare?” His dark brows arched. “What happened?”
“Oh, nothing really.” Feeling silly, she looked down, twisting one of the big wooden buttons on her cardigan. “To be honest, that was my first time on a plane.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “I see.”
“And, well, I have this fear of flying. I was a little freaked.”
“You seem pretty calm now.”
“That’s because my friend gave me antianxiety chocolates.”
“Seriously?”
She eagerly nodded. “They’re pretty good. Want one?”
He laughed. “No, I don’t think I need one. I’m okay.” He tucked his iPad into the pocket in front of him then turned to look at her.
“Oh, good. I didn’t know. I mean, I assume everyone else is flying fearlessly. At least it looks like they are.” She smiled nervously. She wasn’t usually this chatty with strangers. Maybe it was the chocolate. “I just hope I don’t make you uncomfortable . . . I mean if I should suddenly have a full-blown panic attack right over the middle of the Atlantic Ocean—don’t be too alarmed.”
His brows shot up. “Do you really think you will?”
“I honestly don’t know, but just mentioning the phrase panic attack is pretty disturbing.”
“Then don’t mention it.” His hazel eyes twinkled. “And I’m no expert, but for your first day of flying, you seem to be off to a pretty good start.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, for starters, you seem relatively calm right now. And you’re well put together.” He pointed to the book and magazine tucked in the chair pocket in front of Simone, her water bottle, sanitizing wipes, neck pillow, earbuds. “You could easily pass for a very experienced world traveler.”
“I had coaching.”
He smiled. “Besides that, here you are—on your way to Paris. And in wintertime. Not everyone does that. I assume you’re traveling on your own.” He glanced around.
She nodded. “That’s true. I am.”
“Well, that’s very impressive. And adventuresome too.”
“I guess it might look that way, but the truth is my best friend pressured me to do this. I think she’d disown me if I bailed.”
“Why’s that?” His eyes seemed full of compassion.
It was as if someone had uncorked her bottle—the whole story of selling Grandma’s house and Andrea’s assistance poured out. “I honestly planned to pull the plug at the last minute,” she finally confessed, “but here I am . . . on my way.”
“Embarking on what I’m sure will be an unforgettable adventure.”
“Unforgettable as in I’ll live to remember it?” she said in a teasing tone, although she was partially serious. “Maybe share the story with my grandchildren someday.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll tell you what helps me most when I’m anxious or afraid.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “It’s prayer. I find that when I hand these troubles over to God, I start to relax. I trust him for the outcome, and I’ve never been let down.”
She sighed. “I’ve honestly been trying to do that.” She thought of how many other things she’d prayed about in her lifetime—things that had been beyond her control, but her prayers never seemed to get answered quite the way she’d hoped. “But sometimes it’s hard to pray.”
“Maybe it’s the hardness of praying that makes it better.” He paused as the plane’s engine grew louder.
She wanted to ask him what he meant, but the flight attendant started going over the emergency procedures. Noticing how her seatmate paid close attention, Simone did likewise, but she was stuck on what he’d just said about prayer—did harder really make it better? How was that?
Watching the young woman demonstrate the use of the oxygen mask, flotation device, and emergency exits, Simone grew more and more unnerved. By the time the attendant finished, Simone’s heart was racing again. Her chest grew tighter, and it was hard to breathe. Was there enough air in here? She suddenly wanted to leap over the nice fellow beside her, climb past the older man next to him, and push her way to the front where she would demand to be let off. She could claim a heart attack, which probably wasn’t far from the truth.