The Passenger Across the Aisle Said Something
A man sitting in 18D had heard the conversation.
He leaned toward Rachel.
“You really won’t move?”
Rachel looked at him.
“No.”
“That’s her kid.”
“I know.”
“He’s like eight.”
Rachel glanced at the boy, who was now sitting quietly beside her.
“I didn’t separate them.”
The man frowned.
“Still.”
Rachel’s tone changed.
“Still what?”
The man shrugged.
“I would’ve moved.”
Rachel replied:
“Then you can.”
The man stopped talking.
Because his seat wasn’t useful.
The mother was in a middle seat.
The boy was in a middle seat.
Switching with him wouldn’t put them together.
