After a few hours everyone had been rebooked and bused to nearby motels. Each passenger was dispensed a small blue pack with a tiny tube of toothpaste, a pull-apart travel toothbrush and rudimentary shaving gear, and a coupon worth a steam-table dinner that wouldn’t have tasted good under the best circumstances and was worsened by her father’s depression and her mother’s busy anxiety. She tried to be understanding and warm with them. She even returned to their room and watched an episode of “Law & Order” with them. Then she went almost grateful to her poor room.

There was no problem with the plane the next day. There were even empty seats. They boarded and spread out and mostly felt better, although her father was still inconsolable about their lost day.

The flight attendant added an announcement to the usual greetings. He told the passengers how sorry United was for the delay, and offered limitless free drinks as partial compensation. It was 11 a.m. but Lilah decided to take them up on it.

She asked for cognac and soda. He brought her two individual bottles of Courvoisier, a can of sparkling water, and a glass with ice. She drank the first, found it fine, and then had the second.

Fortuitously, that’s about when the pilot turned off the seat belt sign, because it’s also when Lilah felt an urgent need to visit the bathroom. She got out of her seat, walked rather calmly up the aisle past her parents bickering about something, and went into the head. She latched the door, turned, bent over the toilet, and sent a smooth stream of vomit from her belly to the bowl. She must have managed to get exact esophageal alignment; there was no burn and not even a remnant. Suddenly she felt better than she had in days.

She returned to her seat almost ready for that trip.