Six months later, Nina boarded another Meridian Atlantic flight anonymously.
No faux-fur coat this time.
No satin dress.
She wore jeans, sneakers, a black sweater, and a baseball cap.
Hair pulled into a simple ponytail.
She carried a cheap canvas backpack Claire bought at an airport store for forty dollars.
Claire laughed when Nina saw it.
“This thing is terrible.”
“That’s the point.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
Nina boarded economy.
Seat 31F.
Nobody recognized her.
That pleased her.
A young flight attendant greeted every passenger the same way.
No exaggerated warmth for suits.
No colder tone for teenagers.
Near row twenty-six, an elderly Black man struggled with a suitcase.
The flight attendant helped him lift it.
No announcement.
No performance.
At row thirty, a white woman complained loudly that her window seat had changed.
The attendant listened.
Explained.
Offered alternatives.
Did not become defensive.
At 31F, Nina sat.
A teenager beside her looked at the canvas backpack.
“Cool bag.”
Nina stared.
“You’re lying.”
He laughed.
“It’s kind of ugly.”
“Thank you.”
They talked for ten minutes.
He had no idea she owned the airline.
That delighted Nina more than almost anything.
Halfway through the flight, the young attendant recognized her from a corporate photograph.
His face went pale.
“Oh.”
Nina looked up.
“What?”
“Ms. Carter?”
The teenager beside her nearly choked.
Nina sighed.
“So close.”
The attendant looked panicked.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need anything?”
“No.”
“Can I move you?”
“No.”
“First class has an open—”
Nina raised one hand.
“Please don’t ruin this.”
The attendant stopped.
Then laughed nervously.
“Understood.”
He treated her exactly the same for the rest of the flight.
That was the test.
Not perfection.
Consistency.
A year after the original incident, Jordan Ellis called Nina.
“Someone wants to speak to you.”
“Who?”
“Riley Prescott.”
Nina became quiet.
“Why?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Are you still in contact with her?”
“Occasionally.”
“How is she?”
“Working for a hotel chain.”
“Guest-services training.”
Nina almost laughed at the irony.
Jordan continued.
“She’s been asking for months.”
Nina looked out her office window.
“Tell her she can write.”
“She already did.”
“Then why hasn’t she sent it?”
“She says the letter sounds like a legal apology.”
Nina smiled faintly.
“That probably means she’s trying too hard.”
Jordan hesitated.
“Will you meet her?”
Nina thought about Denise.
Her mother had died the previous spring after a short illness.
Grief had changed Nina’s sense of time.
She had become less interested in carrying unresolved people indefinitely.