The pilot’s voice came on over the intercom. A passenger in first class needed medical attention. If there was a doctor on board, he or she should alert a member of the crew.
“What did I tell you!” Raymond exclaimed.
“That you were a rather cold fish.”
“Raise your hand,” Raymond ordered.
“Why on earth would I do that?”
“Have you seen anyone else volunteer?”
“No, but I’m not a doctor.”
“I am, though. Flag down that flight attendant. You are so stubborn sometimes. Think of the passenger who needs help, for goodness’ sake!”
Suddenly, Thomas felt his hand begin to jerk around. Unable to control it, he watched as it waved in the air overhead.
“Are you doing that?” he asked, stunned.
“No, it’s your conscience, genius.”
His neighbor gave him a look filled with both sympathy and surprise.
“You must have misheard. Probably due to your anxiety,” she offered, with a fake laugh. “They need a doctor, not a pianist.”
“I know,” Thomas sighed.
“So, why are you raising your hand?”
“Ah, see, that I do not know,” he said with a shrug.
“Well, put it down, then!”
“I can’t, it’s beyond my control.”
“But there’s no point in serenading that poor sick man,” she argued.
“I doubt there’s a piano on board. And to be honest, serenades get on everyone’s nerves after a while, not just sick people’s.”
“What are you playing at?”
“It depends on the evening. Brahms, Mozart, Bruch ...”
“Are you messing with me?”
“I promise, I’m not,” Thomas exclaimed as sincerely as possible. “Let go of my hand, Dad. You’re going to get me in trouble!”
The woman stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Oh, I wasn’t talking to you,” he apologized.
She leaned over to look in the direction of the seemingly empty seat where Raymond—visible only to Thomas—was enjoying every second of the show.
“Are you on something?” she asked.
“Just a plane, same as you.”
A flight attendant came over, putting an end to the doomed conversation. She thanked Thomas for volunteering, explained that a passenger had passed out, and asked him to follow her.
