The Upgrade

By Charlotte Lewis

Jillianne York is an auditor for Generational Health & Living. Generational owns retirement complexes and medical clinics across the United States. Her position requires her to visit the various businesses, not just to audit them financially, but to determine if they are really servicing the patient or the retiree as well as they should. What makes a good doctor? Or a good retirement home? It's part of Jillianne's job to find out.

While enroute to an audit, Jillianne was given an upgrade by the airlines. Totally unexpected. An upgrade from coach to first class is always a miracle. But some miracles are greater than others...and so begins this story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 11, 2025
• ISBN: 9798369457184

Charlotte Lewis

Charlotte Lewis is retired and lives in Southeast Kansas. Over the years she has been a teacher, accountant, office manager, law secretary, and concierge for a retirement community. However, she has always been a writer. Since retiring, she has self-published several novels as well as producing short stories for other publications. There’s more to learn at charlottelewisonline.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

A soft tap on the bathroom door. Jilli, do want breakfast before we leave?

I half-smiled. No, American Airlines usually has good pastries on this flight.. But, thank you for asking.

Coffee then in a to-go cup?

That would be wonderful, Uncle Jay. Maybe I can get my eyes open before I get to the airport.

I finished drying off. I have probably spent too much time in the shower. Uncle Jay usually waits until I am dressed and have my bedroom door open before he offers coffee.

When I got to the kitchen, Dad was pouring himself a cup of coffee. I don’t know why she doesn’t fly out of O’Hare. It’s closer home.

Yeah, and it takes just as long to get there as it does to Midway. O’Hare is a mad house at any time of the day, but this early it’s darn near impossible to get anywhere in that airport. Midway is a sign of simpler times, Austin.

Uncle Jay had my favorite thermos cup on the counter, ready to fill and cap.

This is a long-time discussion between the two men. And, as far as I know, it’s the most major disagreement they’ve ever had. They’ve known each other for about 27 years. I filled my cup and capped it. My rolling bag was sitting by the door. I picked up my current book, a jacket and purse before leaning over to kiss Dad on the cheek. I’ll be back in a four or five days. Four probably. Tell Mom I have her list of things she wants from Portland. This is a new clinic and shouldn’t take too long to verify everything.

It’s seldom that things of the past keep me awake at night. But the last few nights have been broken by very old memories. Probably because I found that photo in a book. I am sure that’s what started this restlessness. I was looking for a shorter novel to read on this trip. In a really old book, a Bachman, I found a photo. Memories before I have memories. What does Dad call them? What ifs? Anyhow - I studied the photo for a long while; then stuck it back in the book and put it back on the shelf. But it haunts me. I have heard the stories of my first few years many times. But I believe this was the first photo I have seen.

You’re sure quiet this morning, Cupcake. Uncle Jay had just accessed the highway to the airport. Everything okay with the job?

The job is fine. I’m just not sleeping as well as usual. Too many thoughts to think out during the day and they all hit about one in the morning.

He nodded. Yeah, I’ve been there.

I could tell by the look on his face that his mind had already reached back for something. I wished there was time to talk to him about the photo. It is a very nice photo – two couples, each with a small child, standing on a sidewalk in front of a little house. The date on the back was October 1, 2001. My third birthday – also the birthday of the other child in the photo according to the inscription on the back of the picture. The Yorks and Osbecks celebrate third birthdays together.

How often have I heard the story of how my Mom and Mrs. Osbeck shared a maternity room at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center. The Dads didn’t know each other before then. But they pretty well bonded in the four days we spent in that hospital. It turned out that they were assigned to the same group that was being deployed within the next month to the Middle East. I got the impression that our mothers weren’t friends before or after, although evidently the couples spent some time together in the few months before they were deployed that first time. I have never heard much about the three years before the 2001 deployment. This photo was taken just days before they were being deployed then. All my memories are after that. Some faint; many vivid yet today.

News from the Corps that my Dad had been killed in action. A surprise fire fight. It was nearly a week later when we were informed Dad was hospitalized in a military hospital in Germany with wounds incurred in that fire fight. He wasn’t dead. There was no apology for the first report. In fact, it was never acknowledged. Mom said she thought the senders were unaware of each other. But Mom didn’t care. Dad was alive. She even had an address where she could send mail. She had tried to find Mrs. Osbeck, after the first telegram with no success. Later she remembered Mrs. Osbeck was in the process of moving to cheaper quarters when the birthday party occurred. She didn’t have that new address. When the updated news came, she made an even more concentrated effort to find her. Her old neighbors said that they only knew the Osbecks were going to Oak Lawn, or was it Oak Park? No help there and Mom gave up.

I remember my Grandpa telling Mom that maybe Mr. Osbeck was not injured and his wife has no idea that we’ve gotten this type of news. Perhaps that is why she wasn’t looking for us. She knew where we were. The house in the photo was my grandparents’ home. (Where we had moved when news of another deployment had been announced.) If they were notifying us first of death and then of hospitalization, she may not be aware. When Dad finally got home from Germany, he tried to find her. Jayson Osbeck was still hospitalized but would be released within a few months. However, he didn’t know where his family had gone. They weren’t where he had left them. It had been Oak Lawn.

That’s when Dad decided Mrs. Osbeck probably believed Jayson was dead. Trying to find her through official military channels was daunting, and impossible.

By the time Jayson was back in the States, we had moved to an apartment of our own. Dad met Jayson at the airport. He’s been with us ever since. Over twenty years. I call him Uncle Jayson. He never asked me to; it just seems right.

Osbeck isn’t a very common name. Uncle Jay ran ads in local papers and in papers where he thought her parents might be. Her last letter to him had mentioned that her folks had found a house, out of state, and as soon as they were moved, she’d send their address. Evidently, that was after his injury and she never sent it as she thought Jayson was dead - maybe. What other excuse could there be for her to move without notifying him?

Most of my early memories are faded. Only these concerning my Dad and Uncle Jay have remained fairly vivid. Sometimes I would like to talk to someone about them. But as no one else has ever mentioned the things I wonder most about, I haven’t approached anyone. Maybe, when I get home, I’ll get that photo out of Blaze and ask my questions.

The traffic wasn’t as heavy as usual for a Monday morning. I was relieved as I know we had left the house a bit later than usual. I make a trip like this for my work about once a month. And, if possible, I always try to fly the same flight on American Airlines. This isn’t an ad for AA. Like most jobs, there are constants and this first flight out of Midway on Mondays, well most days, has the same flight crew. Almost always. I’m not a good flyer. I don’t grip the seat arms or close my eyes and grind my teeth, but I really believe if I was supposed to fly I’d been born with wings. The crew may not remember me but I remember them. And I feel comfortable with them. Yeah, I’m odd.

Uncle Jay pulled into a loading zone in front of the terminal. He got my suitcase from the trunk while I gathered my carry ons. As usual he asked, Where’s your phone? Some time ago I had had a horrible morning and said something stupid about I hope I can remember how to get home. So now, I take out my phone; Uncle Jay poses by the car and I take a picture. There. he always says, Now you’ll remember how to get home. He looks at the photo, grimaces, kisses my forehead and says, Text me with your flight home info and I’ll be here.

The line at the counter is short and quick. I checked in. The clerk has checked me in for my last four flights. Still trying to find some place better than Chicago, huh? It’s amazing how I can fly Chicago to Denver and change planes to almost any West Coast city.

Yep. No luck so far. Chicago has no par. I think if I answered any differently he’d think I was someone impersonating Jillianne York. Gate 17 is the usual gate as I am almost always headed west. Once this year I went to Boston and we left from Gate 16.

I waited in a short line at the gate desk. It is not required but I prefer they know for sure I’m checked in. I told you – I’m not a good flyer. An agent standing next to the desk asked if I have been to Portland before. Yes, and it’s a favorite city. The clerk shook his head as he verified that the plane was here and being flight serviced and everything should be on time. That’s why I really stop at the desk. If a plane is delayed, they know. Even though this is the first flight for this plane today, sometimes there’s a delay.

From the service desk, I went to the ladies’ room and then to a coffee kiosk to get a cup of coffee. I had consumed the to-go coffee from home in the time it took to get to the airport. First of the day coffee here is really good.

I had just settled into a seat at the gate when I heard an announcement that I should return to the service desk. Huh? It’s only been twenty minutes since I was there. It was repeated once.

Ears Up. American Airlines passenger York; please return to the desk at Gate 17. American Airlines passenger York; return to the desk at Gate 17.

I had just settled into a chair in the corner of Gate 17. I must be the only York on this flight. No first name. I gathered my belongings and walked slowly to the desk. The population in the area had greatly increased in the last ten minutes and I had to zig-zag to avoid traffic. What can they possibly need? The check-in at the terminal had been quick; I have a boarding pass; confirmation of checked luggage. That’s usually enough.

There was a short line at the desk and I waited. When the clerk was clear, I said, I’m Jillianne York. You paged me.

The clerk looked up and he smiled. Yes, indeed, we did. We need to change your seating.

To what?

Well, we don’t have to change your seat; but it would be only fair to do so.

Did I win a prize or something? Passenger of the year? Better seat?

A soft chuckle. Not exactly a prize. It’s just that we think you would be happier on a long flight if we move you. Villanova’s Pep Squad just checked in. They are going to Los Angeles for national competition or something. There are fifteen rows of Pep Squad and you are right in the middle of them.

I took a short step backwards. You have to be kidding. When I reserved this seat there were no other seats reserved in the immediate vicinity..

Right. And then the Pep Squad swooped in and ‘viola’ you’re surrounded. It’s going to get loud in that area. No doubt about it. You’re a regular flyer and, even if you weren’t, we would like to relocate you. There is, however, only one seat available on this flight. We’d like to move you to First Class, seat 4B. No extra charge; this is an airline decision. Are you in? Or should we sell you ear plugs?

That made me laugh. I’m in. I used to be part of a Pep Squad.

The clerk asked for my boarding pass and then, through the magic of airport security, he gave me a new boarding pass. I am sure you will enjoy the flight to Portland. Oh, there’s a meal involved. If you make your selection now, no one will ever know we moved you. He didn’t say it loudly, but I understood. I took the menu offered to me. It was a breakfast menu. Complete with omelets. I made a check mark and asked, Does this ‘more quiet’ seat come with a free alcoholic beverage?

It sure does. In fact, you could probably have two. However, I doubt it will be offered early in the flight. Unless you want a mimosa with your chosen breakfast. Somehow that sounded like an exceptionally fine idea. I nodded and the agent checked another box.

I took the new boarding pass. Thank you so much for your consideration. I truly appreciate the upgrade. I believe we’ll hear the Pep Squad even in first class. Just not at headache levels. Didn’t they come with chaperons?

Ah, yes, the chaperons. No fools these folk. All six of them are in business class.

The clerk and I both laughed. I went back to the corner of the gate. The chair I had been in was still empty. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be so bad after all. Hopefully my new seat mate will be cordial.

As I sat there, I realized I have never flown in First Class. Is there a protocol? Or do you just lumber to your assigned seat like you do in economy? Well, I guess I’ll find out shortly. I could see all the blue and white crowding the gate. A lot of excited youngsters. Wonder if they’ve all flown before? If not, how do you admit you’re a bit frightened of flying? Dummy. You don’t. You tough it out. If you’re wearing Villanovae blue and white you are not afraid of anything – at least, not visibly.

When the call to start boarding came, I had to smile when I saw the economy line swell as young people in blue and white gathered, whispering among themselves. I am fairly sure the whispering is nerves more than anything. I can only imagine the clamor of voices throughout the plane. How kind of the crew to give me an upgrade. The first class line moved swiftly. Boarding passes were scanned without a word other than an occasional thank you.

Seat 4B was an aisle seat. That was about the only thing I have ever asked for when flying. I feel so closed in even if by the window. And besides that, being barely five feet tall, it is a hassle to leave a window seat and move in front of people to get to the aisle. And I usually have to do that at least once on every flight I have ever taken regardless of how long or short it was.

Dad says it is a form of nerves; much better than getting sick all over your fellow passengers. I’m sure he was joking when he said it. But, it is a truth.

Seat 4A was occupied by the time I reached 4B. A man, who looks about my age, was settled in by the time I arrived. He glanced up and smiled but said nothing. He looks familiar. Just a quick g;amce as I sat down – who does he look like? I know that face. Either that or it is an uncanny resemblance of someone I’ve met before. Who?

Never having been in First Class before as a passenger, I don’t know if I should introduce myself. I won’t. If it is customary, than he can introduce himself.

Other than a wider seat and more leg room, first impression of First Class is not that impressive. Maybe there is a bit more head room as well. Maybe. I leaned back and listened to the stewardess go through the usual safety narrative. Early morning flights, like this one, were more casual – or so it seems. Things went quickly and smoothly. The seat belt sign came on as the plane pulled away from the gate and began to taxi to the end of the runway. There are three planes ahead that I can see. In a very short time the plane was at the starting point of the runaway.

I learned a long time ago how to not grip the seat arms and just relax at takeoff.

The couple across the aisle are both quite visibly nervous. Maybe they aren’t used to First Class either. Maybe they aren’t used to flying. But a friend of my Dad’s told me a long time ago that the seat arms weren’t connected to the engine. So, gripping them tightly didn’t help in the least. That memory makes me smile – I was maybe seven years old. We were going to visit my grandparents. Even Uncle Jay, the man who told me, was going. I learned much later he wasn’t even my uncle. But he was smart and I’ve been comfortable ever since during takeoff – more or less.