Ginger Gorrell
“Dad says my new room is purple, but I hate purple,” Jason told the woman to my right. He examined his crayon box, which was perched on the side of the airplane tray table, and pulled out a blue. “Pyle’s dragon has a blue saddle, right? Dad says we are going to paint my room blue, aren’t we, Dad?”
“You betcha,” I answered. He began drawing a blue saddle on the dragon.
“This is Pyle’s dragon, Godfrey. He has a blue saddle,” Jason informed her. Claire, who had been a stranger a mere two hours ago, watched in amusement.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to her.
“It’s fine,” she assured me. “He must be nervous with this being his first time on an airplane.” She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly. She tucked her curly hair behind her ear, then turned her attention bac
