“Mom said you choose your flight instructor by the color of his hair,” she said, relaxed now, happy. “I know I'm being silly, but you do have gray hair, don't you?”
“In all modesty,” he said, “I do. And by the way, if you don't mind my asking, what's your name?”
“I'm sorry,” she said, “I guess I got a little carried away, there. I'm Jennifer Black O'Hara. My friends call me Jennifee.”
When the call was finished, plus seven seconds till the shock of her name no longer paralyzed, he wrote it, neat shaky letters, in his flight schedule.
Coincidence shall lead me to others who bring lessons for me to learn, and for whom I have lessons to give, as well.
He didn't mention it to her, but he thought it likely that the hypnotist's daughter would pass her interview and learn to fly. That they'd pass it together—Jennifee and her mother, both.
—END—