Montreal bound, Emma settled into the window seat. The person next to her was tall and literate. What was he reading? Drat! Her reading glasses were stowed below and the jet had started to roll.
Chimes ended abruptly. The man who looked like Omar Sharif whispered, “Hi Jan, can't talk long, I should have switched off the phone. Yes. Yes, love you, too.”
What if he were speaking to the woman from her Friday Flash Fiction group? Not likely, but she studied him surreptitiously, imagining he was the selfsame man who had miraculously survived both fictional drowning and poison-pen death.
Chimes ended abruptly. The man who looked like Omar Sharif whispered, “Hi Jan, can't talk long, I should have switched off the phone. Yes. Yes, love you, too.”
What if he were speaking to the woman from her Friday Flash Fiction group? Not likely, but she studied him surreptitiously, imagining he was the selfsame man who had miraculously survived both fictional drowning and poison-pen death.
