92: Sarah took the window seat.
She looked exhausted.
Porter fell into the seat beside her, realized he was sitting on the seat belt, then stood back up long enough to find both ends. He sat down again, buckled the belt, and pulled the excess so it was snug.
Sarah was watching him with a grin. “Do you honestly think that flimsy little belt is going to do a lick of good if this plane decides to take a header into solid ground somewhere over Alabama?”
“I don’t want the attendant to yell at me. Sometimes, if you’re nice to them and follow all the rules, they’ll give you the full can of soda instead of just a cup.”
She opened her mouth, about to say something, then changed her mind and leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. “Wake me when we get there, Detective Sam Porter.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For coming with me. I thought I wanted to do this alone, but it’s better with you here,” he told her.
“Very few things are better in life when you’re alone.”
“I’m beginning to realize that.”
“I’m glad I could be of service,” she said groggily. “Maybe pie.”
“What?”
“Pie might be better alone. More pie for me.”
“I didn’t realize there was pie.”
“Not on the plane, maybe after we land. There should always be pie.”
“Sleep tight, Ms. Werner.”
Somehow she did just that, falling asleep even before the cabin doors closed.
The flight was only about two-thirds full. The seat beside him was empty.
Sam waited until they were in the air, then turned on the small overhead light and opened the composition book to the first page, Bishop’s words melting away all else.