Free The Seat Beside Me by Nancy Moser

choice. “Spill it, seatmate. What got you so riled? I really resent you interrupting our delightful conversation about my suicide by having a panic attack. And here I thought I was being a fine conversationalist by keeping things interesting. It’s time for quid pro quo, Henry.”
    Henry hesitated. “I’m not sure interesting is the right word. Suicide is serious business.”
    “Duh.”
    “I meant everything I said. God does not want you to die.”
    “Ah. That again.”
    “It’s the truth.”
    “According to you.” By the tilt of her head, George could tell the widow was listening, so he angled his body to cut her out of the conversation. Mind your own beeswax, lady . “Face it, Henry. My situation was not to blame for your surge of adrenaline, and you can’t be that worried about the airline’s delay.” He raised a finger. “ ‘Neither snow nor rain nor gloom of night …’ ”
    “That’s for mail carriers.”
    “It applies to airplanes too. You’ve never heard of airmail?”
    Henry shook his head. “It’s complicated.”
    “Try me.”
    Henry sat silent a few moments, then pointed at his water. “Can I have that back?”
    “As long as you drink it.” George was amazed when Henry downed the water like a troubled man downing a shot of whiskey. “Feel better?”
    “Not really. But I am ready to explain myself.” Henry looked at George, his eyes confused. “Maybe you can help.”
    “I’ll do my best.” But George didn’t mean it. He didn’t want to help. He had enough to think about without taking on someone else’s problems.
    “It all started last night when I nearly had a one-night fling.”
    George raised an eyebrow. “This is getting good.”
    Henry shook his head. “No, it’s not. It was bad. Really bad.” He looked up. “But I didn’t go through with it—I came close, but stopped.”
    “Too bad.”
    Henry cocked his head, and George didn’t like his scrutiny.
    “You don’t mean that, do you?”
    George looked at his lap. “No, I don’t.”
    “Were you faithful to your wife all those years?”
    “Hey, this conversation isn’t about me.”
    “But were you faithful?”
    George’s mind zipped back to the summer of 1963. A raven-haired beauty. A hot day. He shook the thought away. “Pretty much.”
    “You weren’t.”
    George pointed a finger at him. “Don’t go judging me—”
    Henry raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not. Believe me, I’m not. I was there too. Or on the edge of there. I understand.”
    “Good.”
    “I’m not judging you.”
    “Good.”
    “Can I continue my story now?”
    “Gladly.”
    Henry took a deep breath. “Anyway, I came close to giving in to the temptation of this woman. Even had her at the door of my hotel room when I got this sudden burst of decency and shut the door in her face.”
    “You get an A for ethics and an F for manners.”
    “But even though I’d done the right thing, I was still upset. I tried distracting myself with TV.”
    “That might do it.”
    “But it didn’t. Not completely. What got me calmed down was the verse.”
    “The verse?”
    Henry squirmed, and George guessed why. He means Bible verse. This story is going to turn into some praise-the-Lord testimonial. Great. Just what I need. Maybe the widow still has photos to show .
    “You know the Bible that’s in the nightstand of hotel rooms?”
    “Sure. I use it as a coaster sometimes.”
    Henry’s mouth dropped.
    “Just kidding … Yes, I know the Bible. Sheesh, don’t get so serious.”
    “But it is serious. It changed my life. Or at least I feel it has the potential to change my life.”
    “The Bible in a hotel nightstand changed your life.” George shook his head. “This I gotta hear.”
    “I was upset about what I’d just been through—”
    “I prefer a cold shower—”
    Henry gave him a scathing look. “ Anyway … I was looking for comfort, for guidance, and I opened the Bible and noticed there was a verse