The woman groaned loud enough for half the rows to hear.
“Then stop talking, kid.”
I leaned into the aisle. Lily had her backpack still on her shoulders, both hands folded in front of her like she was about to give a book report.
She looked at the woman for one long second.
I saw it roll under your leg.
“If that’s really your seat,” Lily said, “why are you sitting on my mom’s wedding ring?”
The cabin fell silent. Even the flight attendant turned toward us.
The woman laughed, short and sharp.
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It fell when Mom bent down to grab Noah’s blanket,” Lily said, pointing to the gap between the cushion and the armrest. “I leaned around her to grab my juice box off the seat, and I saw it roll under your leg before we moved. That’s what I was trying to tell you.”
