Gate B12 is calling boarding for a flight that doesn't exist.

I run the overnight clean. Last departure was 10:40. It's 2:15 now.

The display reads BOARDING — FLT 1147 — STOWELL. I've never heard of a Stowell.

I walk down. The jetway door is propped open with a folded newspaper. The date on it is from a Tuesday I can't place.

The boarding chime plays. Then again. The recorded voice is the same one my mother used to fall asleep to.

There's a coffee cup on seat 14C. Still warm. The lipstick on the rim is the shade she wore.

Stowell Regional closed in 1991. That was the year she stopped flying anywhere.

I don't want to know what's on the manifest.