Louise’s Courtroom Face
From the row ahead, I could see Louise’s sneakers beneath the seat.
One small hand rested near the armrest.
Mark used to call her serious expression her courtroom face.
Whenever she believed someone was hiding the truth, she narrowed her eyes and watched everything.
I wanted to call her back.
Protecting me was not her responsibility.
She had already spent a month trying to protect Noah from silences he was too young to understand.
Before I could speak, Louise leaned toward the floor.
She straightened with a small, pale object between her fingers.
Evelyn noticed too late.
It was a printed photograph that had fallen face-up beside her shoe.
Louise placed it beside the screen of her tablet.
Her tablet displayed a recent picture of me holding Noah while Louise leaned against my shoulder.
Then she turned both images toward Evelyn.
Evelyn cried out so sharply that several passengers turned around.
She jumped up, hit her knee against the tray table, and rushed into the aisle.
A flight attendant intercepted her.
“Ma’am, what happened?”
Evelyn pointed at Louise.
“Where did you get that?”
Louise held up the photograph.
“You dropped it.”
“Give it back.”
“I was going to.”
Evelyn snatched the photograph.
Then she looked again at the image on Louise’s tablet.
The anger disappeared from her face.
Something heavier replaced it.
“I need another seat,” Evelyn told the flight attendant.
“I’m sorry. The cabin is full.”
“Then let me stand.”
“You may come into the galley for a few minutes, but you must return to your seat before descent.”
Evelyn followed her without another word.
Louise locked her tablet.
“What did you say to her?” I asked.
“Something honest.”
“What?”
She looked toward the back of the plane.
“I think she should hear me say it again.”
That answer worried me more than an admission that she had been rude.
