“I owe you a lot of things.”
“Start with this.”
He looked through the window.
“I thought this airport had forgotten.”
Grant’s expression changed. “It didn’t.”
“You should have let it.”
“Some things shouldn’t be forgotten.”
My heart began to pound.
“What happened 34 years ago?”
Before Dad could answer, a voice came over the speaker.
“Would passenger Thomas please remain at the gate for a moment?”
Dad went still.
Grant leaned closer.
“Sir, before you get angry, this wasn’t my idea.”
“Whose was it?”
Grant looked toward the window.
A vehicle had stopped beside our aircraft.
Several uniformed crew members stepped out.
All of them were looking toward the terminal.
Toward Dad.
He pushed himself up.
“We’re leaving.”
I caught his sleeve. “No, we’re not.”
“Elaine.”
“I spent my whole life believing you fixed equipment at airports.”
“I did fix things.”
“With pilot’s wings pinned inside your jacket?”
The gate agent approached.
“Thomas, we only need a few minutes.”
“For what?”
“Grant asked us to pull something from the airline archive.”
Dad’s face lost its color. “No.”
Grant held out his phone.
“A photograph.”
Dad tried to stop me.
“Elaine, don’t.”
But I took it.
A much younger version of my father stood beside an airplane in a captain’s uniform.
