By the time the first chocolate shell cracked between her teeth, Grandma Doris had already decided she was going to steal as much candy as she could before the day was over.
The air inside the Midville Chocolate Factory was thick and sweet, like someone had melted an entire Easter aisle from a big-box store and pumped it through the vents. Conveyor belts hummed under fluorescent lights, chocolate fountains burbled behind glass, and somewhere deep in the building a machine gave off a steady clanking that sounded like a cartoon heart beating.
“And this concludes our tour of the Chocolate Factory,” the guide announced, his Totally Chocolate baseball cap slightly crooked. “Now you know how we make our famous truffles.”
Cameron, who was ten and had chocolate smeared on his cheek, shot his hand up. “Is this where we get the samples?”
“Mom…” his little brother Cody muttered, nudging him. “You’re not supposed to ask.”
Their mom, Melissa, gave that tired “I love my children but please don’t embarrass me in public” smile that moms all over America have perfected. “Boys,” she hissed under her breath.
The tour guide laughed. “No, man. We do that in the gift shop,” he said. “We’ve got all kinds of options in there.”
Doris’s blue eyes tracked the trays in front of them instead. Rows and rows of fresh chocolates sat on cooling racks just beyond the rope, glossy and perfect, still warm from the tempering machines. They looked better than anything in plastic packaging.
“But they all look so delicious and fresh,” she said, almost to herself.
“Yeah,” Cameron said. “And they’re right there.”
“I guess one little taste wouldn’t hurt,” Doris murmured.
Before anyone could stop her, she reached over the rope, grabbed a chocolate from the closest tray, and popped it into her mouth with the smooth efficiency of someone who’d been doing this for seventy years.
The tour guide stared. “Ma’am—”
“Oh, thank you,” she said with a sweet smile, as if he’d offered it to her, and patted his arm.
Melissa’s stomach dropped. “Mom.”
“Come on, kids,” Doris said briskly, turning away from the trays. “Gift shop time.”
The guide sighed. “I don’t believe this,” he muttered, but the group had already started drifting toward the double doors marked GIFT SHOP – EXIT TO PARKING LOT.
“Remember,” Melissa called out as they entered the shop filled with candy-colored shelves and glass jars. “Only one sample each.”
Plastic bowls of individually wrapped chocolates sat next to the registers. Cameron and Cody each picked one, like good boys. Doris drifted toward the far wall, where a clerk was restocking cabernet cherry truffles, her purse swinging casually on her arm.
“What are you kids doing?” Doris asked in a low voice once they were out of Melissa’s sight line.
“What do you mean, Grandma?” Cody asked, confusion written all over his round face. “He said we could have one.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Doris said. She glanced toward the register, then down at the kids’ half-zipped backpacks, bulging with notebooks and toy cars and whatever else small boys in the United States consider essential.
“What do you mean, Grandma?” Cameron repeated.
Doris’s eyes gleamed. “Take ’em all,” she whispered.
There was a beat where both boys stared at her, unsure if this was one of those moments adults called “a joke.” Then Doris opened her purse, and the scent of sugar and leather wafted out.
“Fill your pockets,” she said. “Your Nana’s got a system.”
In less than five minutes, miniature chocolate bars, caramel squares, and foil-wrapped peanut butter cups disappeared into backpacks and the deep, mysterious interior of Doris’s enormous tote, the kind every American grandmother seemed to own: floral, indestructible, and able to carry a week’s worth of groceries, a knitting project, and three grandchildren if necessary.
“So, did you get your samples?” Melissa asked when they regrouped near the door.
“Yeah, we got lo—” Cameron started, then caught his grandmother’s warning look. “Lovely. It was lovely.”
The tour guide handed Melissa a coupon for ten percent off their next visit. “Thank you for coming today,” he said. “Tell your friends. We’d love to see you back soon.”
“Excuse me,” Doris said, leaning closer. “I saw someone wheeling big tubs of candy into that big room over there.” She pointed toward a steel door with a sign that read EMPLOYEES ONLY.
“Oh, that’s our candy warehouse,” the guide said. “Where we store bulk inventory.”
“Ohhh,” Doris breathed. “Can we tour that, too?”
“No, I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “We don’t do tours of that.”
“It’s on my bucket list to tour a candy warehouse,” Doris said, and she put so much wistfulness into the words that for a second even Melissa believed her. “Can’t we just peek for a minute? I’ve never even seen one. I’m seventy-five. How many more chances do I have?”
The guide hesitated. He’d grown up in this small Midwestern town, dreamed of moving to Chicago someday, and had a soft spot for grandmas who reminded him of his own.
“It’s hard for me to deny a request like that,” he said finally. “Okay. But just for a minute.”
“Okay, kids, let’s go,” Doris said cheerfully. “Follow Nana.”
Behind the heavy steel door, the world turned industrial. Metal shelving tipped with pallets rose toward the high warehouse ceiling. Giant cardboard boxes the size of refrigerators were strapped and labeled CHOCOLATE DROPS – LOT 992, CARAMEL FUDGE BITES – LOT 131, MARSHMALLOW TWISTS – LOT 427. The air was cool and smelled like pure sugar.
Doris’s eyes widened like a kid in a cartoon. This wasn’t just a room. It was heaven with concrete floors.
She leaned down between the shelves, her whisper sharp. “Cameron, you go that way. Cody, you go that way. I’m going to go this way.”
“Go where?” Melissa said, catching up. “Mom, we’ve got to hurry. We have a plane to catch, remember? Chicago, ring any bells?”
“All right, all right,” Doris said. “Kids, just look around. Stretch your legs. Enjoy the view.”
It took the guide a minute to herd them all back out. When they did finally spill into the sunlight of the parking lot, Doris’s purse looked slightly heavier. Cameron and Cody’s backpacks, too.
“That’s it, kids,” Doris said as they loaded into the minivan. “You got any more of those samples?”
“Oh yeah, Grandma,” Cameron said proudly. “We got lots.”
“What’s with all this candy?” Melissa demanded an hour later, standing in the family’s rented sedan in the airport drop-off zone as she watched Reese’s wrappers and tiny chocolate bars spill out of the boys’ backpacks like a sugar avalanche.
“Mom, they gave us a bunch of samples at the chocolate factory,” Cody said, eyes wide with faux innocence.
“A bunch of samples?” Melissa asked. “They said you could have one.”
“Oh honey,” Doris said, waving a hand as if Melissa had misheard the entire tour. “That’s just a serving suggestion.”
“We’ll see about that,” Melissa muttered.
Inside the terminal, the TSA lines snaked under bright LED signs flashing DEPARTURES. Chicago, Dallas, Atlanta—America in LED. Melissa checked the screens, trying to juggle boarding passes, IDs, and two kids whose sugar high was officially kicking in.
“Where’s the flight to Chicago?” Doris asked.
“There it is,” Melissa said, pointing. “Gate 17. Come on, Mom. Let’s go. We’re running late.”
They passed baggage claim, where people surrounded carousels, watching for suitcases like they were rare prizes on a game show.
“Mom, why are we in baggage claim?” Cameron asked. “The planes are up there.”
“That’s the way everyone goes,” Doris said, in the tone that implied everybody else was wrong. “This is a shortcut.”
“Mom,” Melissa said slowly, “you cannot shortcut the laws of physics. Security is upstairs.”
“I know where I’m going,” Doris said. “But first, is there a ladies’ room down here? I need to visit before we check in.”
“That’s it,” Melissa said under her breath. “With all that candy, I’m not surprised.”
“It’s right over there,” Cameron said, pointing to a sign that showed the universal little stick figure in a skirt. “Restrooms.”
“Kids,” Doris said, “give me those backpacks.”
“Why?” Cody asked.
“Because your old Nana doesn’t want you dragging them into the bathroom,” she said. “Go with your mother. I’ll watch your things.”
Just what I thought, Melissa thought as they walked away. She’s going to throw all the candy away.
In the tiled echo of the restroom, she told herself that was for the best. Sugar had its place, but not on a two-hour evening flight with two boys and her mother.
By the time they came back, the backpacks were zipped neatly and stacked by Doris’s feet. Her purse sat next to them, full and dignified.
“She threw it all out,” Cameron whispered to Cody, sounding genuinely heartbroken.
“Will she find out about the other candy?” Cody whispered back.
“Other candy?” Melissa said. “What other candy?”
“Nothing,” they chorused.
Melissa sighed. Parenting in the United States: 90% logistics, 10% guessing which of your kids is lying and about what.
Twenty feet away at the gate podium, a young gate agent was scrolling through the passenger manifest.
“I heard we have a passenger with a kidney flying today,” the new hire said, pushing her glasses up her nose.
“Yes,” the older agent replied. “Everyone has a kidney.”
“No,” the younger one said. “We’re supposed to let them board first.”
“Oh!” The older agent laughed. “We’re going to have to let them all board first then, huh?”
“No. Only one of them has an extra kidney,” the younger one said patiently. “And that’s… Mr. Knickerbocker.”
“Oh,” the older agent said. “Okay. I’m confused, but whatever you say.”
Out in the seating area, an elderly man with a thin nose and sharp eyes sat in a wheelchair, grumbling. A small, humming cooler sat in his lap like a very expensive lunchbox.
“All right, here we are, Mr. Knickerbocker,” said Nurse Amy, who wore navy scrubs and the expression of someone who’d spent twenty years keeping stubborn men alive. “Gate 17. Chicago. You excited?”
“I don’t know why we’re flying,” Mr. Knickerbocker said. “This whole thing seems like trouble.”
“Well, you only wanted the best,” Amy said. “That’s why we’re going to Chicago. For your surgery.”
“It’s just a new kidney,” he said. “Can’t they do it at the doctor’s office?”
“Careful with that thing,” Amy said, tapping the cooler. “You’ve been on the waitlist for two years. And this is not a minor procedure. This is a transplant.”
He harrumphed. “They better make it fast. I’ve got a bridge tournament this weekend.”
“I’m sure they’ll go as quickly as they can,” she said. “But you don’t want to rush these things.”
Cameron and Cody zoomed past them, weaving between rolling suitcases like racecars.
“Cody, wait up,” Melissa called. “Slow down.”
“I can’t get those kids to settle down,” she groaned to her mother.
“Why don’t you give them some candy?” Doris suggested with a straight face. “That’ll calm them down.”
“Oh, no,” Melissa said. “We are done with candy for this trip.”
“Kids!” she shouted. “Over here. Now.”
“What, Mom?” Cameron said, skid-stopping in front of her.
“What’s wrong?” Cody asked.
“Why are you so hyped up?” Melissa demanded. “You’re bouncing off the walls.”
“Can’t you tell?” Doris said brightly. “They’re just excited to travel.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Cody asked. “We’re bored.”
“Sit down and play a game,” Melissa said. “I brought Chutes and Ladders.”
“Chutes and Ladders?” Cameron groaned. “I used to play that when I was five.”
“Yes,” Doris said, eyes misting over theatrically. “I have such fond memories. You used to be so sweet.”
“They used to be so sweet,” Melissa repeated, half under her breath.
“Sit down,” Doris ordered. “Humor your grandmother.”
The boys flopped into the seats, setting the faded game board on the floor between them.
“I was kind of hungry for some candy anyway,” Doris said casually, digging into her purse.
“Ooh, give me some,” Cody said automatically, then froze. “The candy. It’s gone.”
“What?” Doris stared into the purse as if it had betrayed her. The familiar glint of wrappers was gone. Only her wallet, a lipstick, and about forty receipts stared back.
“What happened to it?” Cameron asked, scandalized.
“I told you kids no candy allowed on this trip,” Melissa said, watching from the side with arms crossed. “Looks like your grandma listened. For once.”
Doris snapped the purse shut. “It’s too bad you don’t have any other candy,” she said, loudly enough that her grandsons heard and her daughter did not.
“Oh yeah,” Cameron said slowly, eyes sliding toward his backpack. “We should… eat some. I mean, play that game over there.”
He gave his grandmother a look that said: Operation Sugar continues.
Doris smiled sweetly and patted his hand.
“Here, kids,” she said a minute later. “Take this.”
She lifted her enormous purse and held it out. It was heavy, almost comically so.
“You don’t have anything you’d like your Nana to watch over for you, would you?” she asked.
“Oh,” Cody said, getting it. “Here. Take my backpack.”
“We already gave you mine,” Cameron said.
“Good,” Doris said, setting the backpacks next to her purse like she was guarding state secrets.
Across the terminal, a Totally Airlines captain in a crisp uniform stepped up to the gate. The tail of the American flag on his shoulder patch gleamed in the overhead light.
“Marcia,” he said to the gate agent. “Good to see you. Flying to Chicago today?”
“Captain Connors,” she said. “Please, call me Chet,” he said with a grin. “Anything special in the manifest today?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “Looks like we’ve got a kidney transplant on this flight.”
“I know Totally Airlines is known for our service,” Chet joked. “But I’m pretty sure we don’t do surgery on the plane.”
“Oh, silly me,” Marcia said. “I meant we’re transporting a patient. And you’ll never guess what he has with him.”
“I don’t know,” Chet said. “But if it’s an extra carry-on, that’s twenty-five dollars.”
“I don’t know if he’s paid,” Marcia said. “But he’s got this little refrigerator that’s got the replacement kidney inside.”
“Well, in that case,” Chet said, glancing at the older man in the wheelchair, “I’ll be sure to fly extra carefully.”
“Sounds like he’s in good hands,” Marcia said.
“I don’t feel so good,” Mr. Knickerbocker grumbled softly to Amy a few minutes later as they waited to board.
“Oh, really?” she asked. “What are your symptoms?”
“I’m feeling woozy,” he said. “And I hear loud noises.”
“Woozy,” she repeated. “How long has it been since dialysis?”
“This morning,” he said.
“Did you bring your pills?” she asked, reaching for his satchel.
“Yes,” he said. “They should take care of it. But I’m concerned about those noises. I keep hearing rockets going off every couple of minutes.”
“Rocket sounds?” she said, frowning.
“There goes one right now,” he said, pointing vaguely.
“That’s an airplane,” she said gently. “We are at an airport, remember?”
“Oh,” he said. “Well, that explains some of it.”
A boarding call crackled over the speakers. “Totally Airlines Flight 445 with nonstop service to Chicago will begin pre-boarding shortly.”
“I’d like to get a new magazine for the flight,” Doris said, already eyeing the airport gift shop kiosk with its wall of glossy covers promising NEW FALL RECIPES and AMERICA’S BEST ROAD TRIPS.
“That’s all right, Mom,” Melissa said. “We’ve got plenty of things to—”
“Kids,” Doris said, ignoring her, “could you get it for me?”
“You mean at the gift shop?” Cody asked. His eyes darted to her purse.
“Gift shop,” Doris repeated. “Here, take my credit card. Actually, you know what? Just put it in my purse.”
Cameron and Cody exchanged a look.
“I know what she means,” Cameron whispered.
Grandma wants candy.
The boys trotted off toward the newsstand with Doris’s giant tote, which bumped against Cody’s knee as they walked. Decorative pumpkins grinned down at them from temporary Halloween displays. The overhead speakers played soft pop. A TV in the corner showed a national morning show talking about fall travel tips in New York and Chicago.
On their way back, Cameron’s backpack looked suspiciously fuller than it had when they’d left home that morning.
“Totally Airlines Flight 445 will now board all passengers,” came the next announcement.
“Oh, Mom, can I sit next to Grandma?” Cody asked as they headed down the jet bridge.
“No, I want to sit next to Grandma,” Cameron said.
“What is this all about?” Melissa asked. “You two are going to sit next to each other. It’s only two hours. You’ll live.”
Doris smiled serenely as she shuffled down the aisle toward row 23, purse over her shoulder, purse heavier than any duty-free shopping spree could justify.
The plane lifted off into a glowing orange Midwest sunset, land below turning into a patchwork quilt of neighborhoods and fields.
Mr. Knickerbocker shifted in his seat, 23A, his cooler wedged carefully in the overhead bin, a laminated card on his chest identifying him as a medical passenger. Amy sat beside him, frowning at his vitals on her portable monitor.
“Are we there yet?” he grumbled.
“I’m just taking your vitals,” she said. “We haven’t even leveled off.”
“They can do that when we get off the plane,” he said. “You nurses always fuss.”
“That won’t be for a couple of hours,” she said. “And your heart rate looks a little low.”
Cameron and Cody, in the row behind, were not thinking about heart rates. They were thinking about chocolate.
“Cameron, do you have that magazine you got for me?” Doris asked loudly, her hand already slipping into her purse.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “Here you go.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, taking the thick design magazine with a home makeover on the cover. She opened it like she was truly interested in granite countertops. Inside, between the glossy pages, a cascade of chocolate bars rustled softly.
She slid her hand inside, fingers closing around a familiar crinkly shape.
“I’m feeling kind of woozy,” Mr. Knickerbocker said in front of her. “Can I have another one of those pills?”
“Okay,” Amy said. “But we’re running low.”
Behind them, Melissa leaned into the aisle. Something wasn’t adding up.
“Does Grandma have everything we bought at the gift shop?” she asked.
“Well, now she does,” Cody said, a little too quickly.
“Hey, Grandma,” Cameron said. “Can I see that magazine? There was an article I was interested in.”
“Article?” Melissa thought. Since when is my son interested in home decorating?
“Well, sure, Cody,” Doris said, handing it backward.
Melissa watched the exchange with narrowed eyes.
Why is he suddenly so into design articles? she wondered. That’s what happens when you have HGTV running all day at home, I guess. Still… something’s fishy.
“Mom,” Melissa said, leaning across the aisle. “When we land, I want you to come over to our house for dinner.”
“Sure, that sounds great,” Doris said.
“You’ve got candy,” Melissa hissed, spotting the edge of a wrapper in the magazine as Cody opened it.
“Somebody must have left it on the plane,” Doris said, without missing a beat.
“Those kids better not have any,” Melissa said. “Not after all this.”
“Not us,” Cameron said, straight-faced.
“Nope,” Cody echoed.
“I’m getting tired,” Mr. Knickerbocker said, eyes drooping. “Mind if I get a little shut-eye?”
“Fine,” Amy said. “I’ll monitor your pacemaker while you sleep.”
Melissa reached across, snatched the magazine, and opened Doris’s purse.
Inside, stacked like a contraband treasure hoard, were candy bars, peanut butter cups, gummy bears, and a small mountain of individually wrapped chocolates.
“Let me see that purse,” Melissa said. “When we get back to Chicago, I am going to throw away all this candy.”
“You’ve got candy too?” she added, spotting bulges in the boys’ sweatshirts.
“Give it to me,” she said, holding out her hand.
Cameron and Cody groaned and began unloading sugar into the seat pocket like they were emptying a clown car. Passengers across the aisle stared, half amused, half impressed.
Up front, a chime sounded. “Ding.”
“Mr. Knickerbocker,” Amy said suddenly. “Wake up. Wake up.”
His head lolled to the side.
“The pills,” she whispered to herself, panic creeping into her voice. “We’re all out.”
She pressed the call button.
A flight attendant hurried down the aisle. “A passenger needs help,” Amy said. “Can you get your emergency kit?”
“Oh, it’s 23A,” the flight attendant said. “Isn’t that the guy with the kidney?”
“Yes, it is,” Amy said. “I hope he’s okay. He hasn’t had dialysis in ten hours, and he’s having a reaction.”
“Is there anything we can do?” the attendant asked.
“There’s an ambulance waiting for us in Chicago,” Amy said. “But how long until we get there?”
The attendant checked her watch, did a mental calculation with the speed of a seasoned crew member. “At least forty-five minutes,” she said. “Is that quick enough?”
“I need glucose,” Amy said. “He normally takes pills, but we’re out. Do you have any emergency supplies?”
“We have a kit,” the attendant said. “But it’s for cuts and scrapes. Bandages. We do have a defibrillator.”
“That won’t help,” Amy said. “I can control his pacemaker. I need glucose. Fast.”
“Okay,” the attendant said. “Let me check.”
She hurried to the galley. Another flight attendant, stacking plastic cups, looked up.
“Do we have any glucose?” the first asked.
“Glucose?” the other repeated. “Is that for the kidney passenger?”
“I guess he takes glucose pills,” the first said. “And he’s all out. Is he okay?”
“Not unless we can find him some,” the first said.
“Well, where I come from,” the second said slowly, “that’s what we call sugar.”
“Sugar?” the first said. “That’s perfect.”
“We don’t have glucose tablets,” the second said, “but we do have sugar packets. And juice. And—”
“He can’t have anything acidic,” Amy’s voice floated from the aisle. “No soda. It’ll upset his stomach.”
“Sugar packets,” the attendant said. “I think it works the same. Hopefully.”
She grabbed every white packet in the drawer and hurried back.
Amy tore them open, pouring the granules under Mr. Knickerbocker’s tongue.
“Wake up,” she said. “Come on. Stay with me.”
Nothing.
The call button chimed again.
“I’ve got it,” Marcia said, walking down the aisle from the front. “Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not,” Amy said. “I need a doctor.”
“I’ll go call for one,” Marcia said.
She picked up the intercom. “Attention, passengers,” she said. “Due to a medical situation on board, we’d like to know if there is a doctor on the plane. If you are a physician, please press your call button or notify a flight attendant.”
A chime sounded a few rows up.
“I’m a doctor,” a man in a hoodie and glasses said, standing. “How can I help?”
“We have a passenger in 23A,” Marcia said. “Kidney transplant patient. He’s not responsive.”
“I’ll check on him,” the doctor said.
Kids craned their necks. Grown-ups whispered. Somewhere in the back of the plane, someone quietly crossed themselves.
The doctor knelt by Mr. Knickerbocker. “What seems to be the issue?” he asked Amy.
“He’s flying to Chicago for a kidney transplant,” she said. “His heart rate is low, he’s not responsive, and he hasn’t had any glucose in hours.”
“When was his last dialysis?” the doctor asked.
“About ten hours ago,” she said.
The doctor checked the monitor, pressed his fingers to the old man’s neck. “Looks like he’s in arrhythmia,” he said. “Have you tried giving him glucose?”
“Yes,” Amy said. “But he’s out of pills. The airline only had a couple of sugar packets, and… it wasn’t enough.”
The doctor looked up at the flight attendant. “He needs more glucose,” he said. “Mass quantities. Fast.”
“I don’t have any,” Amy said. “Not in a form he can take.”
“Do you have anything with glucose in it?” the doctor asked the attendant.
“We have soda,” she said.
“No soda,” Amy said. “He can’t have anything acidic. It’ll make things worse.”
“What should we do then?” Marcia asked, her voice brittle.
“Can you make another announcement?” the doctor said. “Ask the passengers if they have any sugary snacks. Candy. Anything fast-acting.”
“I’m going to get Marcia for that,” the attendant said, then realized she already had Marcia and nodded at herself.
“Passengers,” came the next announcement, the entire cabin now hushed. “We have a medical situation on board and an unusual request. We need to know if anyone has any sugary snacks on board—candy, chocolate, anything with sugar. If you do, please press your call button or hand it to your nearest flight attendant. It could make a big difference.”
Cameron and Cody looked at each other.
“Mom,” Cody hissed. “Tell them.”
Melissa fumbled with the seat pocket, suddenly aware of the stash wedged there. The candy that she had just threatened to throw out. The candy she’d spent the last three hours fighting.
“Yes,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “We do.”
She held up fistfuls of candy like some strange offering.
“Oh my goodness,” the flight attendant said, eyes wide. “This will make all the difference.”
Other passengers followed suit. A couple from Kansas handed over a bag of gummy bears. A college student in a hoodie offered up Sour Patch Kids. A businessman, embarrassed, passed a handful of mini chocolate bars he’d grabbed from the lounge.
By the time they were done, the flight attendants’ arms were full.
“And trust me,” Doris said, lifting her purse and unzipping it, “there’s a lot more where that came from.”
Her tote, once again, became a treasure chest. Peanut butter cups. Caramels. Wrapped chocolates from the tour. Airport candy from the gift shop. It poured out like a sugary waterfall.
They spread the candy out on an empty seat, ripping wrappers like they were sutures. They handed the doctor the fastest-acting sweets. He broke them into smaller pieces as Amy carefully fed them to Mr. Knickerbocker.
Minutes crawled by in the cramped cabin.
The hum of the engines seemed louder. Somewhere, a baby started to cry, then went quiet, as if even it sensed the importance of the moment.
“What happened?” Mr. Knickerbocker croaked suddenly, blinking up at the overhead vents. “I don’t remember a thing.”
Amy sagged with relief. “Thankfully, there was a family on board who saved your life,” she said. “And a plane full of very generous strangers.”
“I feel great,” he said after a moment, voice stronger. “I have so much energy. Like I could play four rounds of bridge right now.”
“That was close,” Melissa said, sitting back, heart pounding.
“Is Mr. Knickerbocker okay?” Cody asked, peeking between the seats.
“He’s more than okay,” Amy said, turning back to them. “He’s like a new man. Congratulations, kids. You’re heroes.”
“Aww, thanks,” Cameron said, a little embarrassed, a little proud.
“It was actually all Grandma,” Cody said loyally. “She’s the one who wanted all the candy.”
“Oh shucks,” Doris said, cheeks pink, eyes bright. “Now let that be a lesson to you. Always carry candy.”
Melissa looked at her, this woman who drove her crazy and had, somehow, helped save a stranger’s life at thirty thousand feet over the American Midwest.
“For once,” Melissa said softly, “I’m glad you didn’t listen to me.”
Doris patted her hand. “Honey,” she said, as the plane began its descent toward the glittering skyline of Chicago, “if there’s one thing I’ve learned living in this country, it’s this: life is sweeter when you’re prepared.”
Below them, the lights of the city spread out like a box of spilled candy. And somewhere on that plane, a man with a new lease on life clutched a small refrigerator and smiled, his pockets still sticky with chocolate.
