The plane was 500 feet from the runway. The left ear was clear, but the right was still a stubborn, pressurized vault. “Final move,” Pearl whispered. She tore a napkin, soaked it with the last of her hot coffee, and pressed the warm, damp cloth over Leo’s right ear. “Heat relaxes the tube. Steam loosens the mucus.”

Leo sat back, stunned. The wheels hit the tarmac with a thud he felt but no longer feared.

He sighed, defeated. But the woman next to him, a chatty grandmother named Pearl, noticed his wince. “First time flying?” she asked.

He smiled at Pearl. “Can I borrow your notebook for the return flight?”