But her question about sending messages had sounded different from an ordinary complaint about internet access.
She wasn't asking whether she could play games or watch videos.
She wanted to know when her words could reach someone else.
I thought about the sign my sons were making.
Their expectation that I would arrive was so secure they could spend their time planning a surprise.
Sophie did not seem secure about who would be waiting for her.
As the arrival estimate changed, I watched her calculate the difference with the seriousness of a child solving a problem that felt much bigger than arithmetic.
Vanessa took a sharp breath.
"What did you try to send?"
"Give me the phone."
A faint scuffle of fabric followed.
I deliberately kept my eyes on my own screen.
Walter could see more from his seat than I could.
He didn't intervene, and I was grateful.
The progress map showed a tiny airplane floating over an enormous blue curve.
I remembered seeing that picture on flights when my boys were younger.
Ben had once asked why the plane didn't fall off the edge of the map.
Sophie studied the same display with a completely different purpose.
She wanted to know when she'd be able to reach the person who might be waiting for her.
I tried to imagine what it was like to rely on a phone message that might never send.
The thought reminded me of the tense minutes after emergency surgery, when a family waits for someone to enter the room and explain what happened.
Waiting without information can transform minutes into something almost physical.
Jordan arrived with another drink cart, and Vanessa became cheerful in the way some people become cheerful only when an outsider is watching.
"We're having a wonderful flight," she announced.
Sophie stared at her shoes.
Jordan asked whether they needed anything.
"No," Vanessa said.
"Yes," Sophie said at the same time.
The entire row fell silent.
I thought about sending Elena a long explanation of what was happening.
Then I imagined her reading it while trying to get the boys ready for bed.
She would worry about me, and she could do nothing useful from Chicago.
I sent a short message instead.
The flight was uncomfortable, but I was safe.
The rest could wait until we were together.
That decision made me think about Sophie's position.
I could choose which details to share and when to share them.
She seemed unsure whether she would be allowed to send even a basic message.
The contrast unsettled me more than the seat impacts ever had.
I watched the progress bar advance a fraction and wondered whether she was counting the remaining hours because time was the only thing nobody could take from her.
Sophie looked from her mother to the flight attendant.
"Can you tell me when we get to Chicago?"
"I can show you the flight map," Jordan said.
Vanessa waved a hand.
"She knows where we're going. She's being dramatic."
Jordan explained the remaining flight time and pointed to the progress bar on the screen.
Sophie counted its segments, whispering under her breath.
Afterward, I finally got my message through to Elena.
I took a screenshot of my own delayed message to Elena, not to prove anything about Sophie but to remember how unreliable the onboard connection had been.