Clara was still trying to calm her racing pulse when the flight attendant suddenly reappeared at her row a few minutes later, this time walking down the aisle without the heavy beverage cart. The woman leaned down slightly, pretending to check on something underneath the seat directly in front of Clara. As she did, she swiftly slipped a tightly folded napkin onto the tray table. Her fingers briefly brushed Clara’s hand—they were ice-cold and trembling. Then, without making any eye contact or uttering a single syllable, the attendant stood up and hurried toward the back of the plane.
Clara stared down at it. The napkin was folded into a small, precise square. Slowly, with shaking fingers, Clara unfolded the paper. The handwriting inside was small, even, and frantic, practically carving into the thin paper.