“ . . . 629, now boarding. Flight 629 to Buffalo, now boarding. All travelers report to Gate . . .”
Suppressing a weary groan of relief, Jen stood and stretched, feeling her spine shift and settle, vertebrae by vertebrae. She heaved the carry-on over her left shoulder and offered an encouraging smile to the nine-year old boy blearily gazing up at her.
“Now?” Tod was a slender, waif-like child. His hair was plastered by sweat and what looked like chocolate to one side of his head, and stuck out in bizarre clumps on the other.
“Yep,” Jen answered and held her hand out to him. She adored her little brother, who was quiet and bookish, and yet usually vibrated with an intense awareness of the world around him.