Now, the security line was packed, and he was leaning on his cane while trying to remove his jacket.
His fingers shook.
“Here,” I said. “I’ve got it.”
“I’m 81, Elaine. I’m not 8.”
“Then stop acting like you’re too stubborn to need help.”
The corner of his mouth lifted.
Then the woman turned around.
“Are you two done? You’ve been holding up the line.”
Dad caught my wrist before I could answer.
“Elaine.”
I swallowed what I wanted to say.
That was when two uniformed pilots walking past us stopped.
They had been talking.
Now, both were staring at Dad.
One whispered something to the other.
Then they turned around.
The older pilot approached slowly, almost cautiously.
“Sir… is your name Thomas?”
Dad’s face changed.
“Yes.”
The pilot immediately removed his cap.
So did the other one.
The woman laughed.
“What, is Grandpa famous?”
Neither pilot looked at her.
The older one stared at the small silver wings pinned inside Dad’s jacket.
“I haven’t seen those wings in 34 years.”
My stomach tightened.
Dad had folded his jacket over his arm, exposing the pin attached to the lining.
I had never seen it before.
He had always told us he’d worked in airport maintenance before retiring.
