“He wasn’t.”
—
We flew back to Boston one week later.
This time, I booked economy.
Row 34.
Seats A and B.
I never even checked the price of first class.
At the gate, an employee recognized Grandma’s name.
Captain Holt had left something for her.
An envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Gene and Danny stood beside an airplane.
Danny held his hand toward the camera.
The silver wings rested in his palm.
On the back, someone had written:
Ruth —
Still keeping the seat warm.
Always.
— Gene & Danny
Grandma kept that picture on her lap for the entire flight.
A year has passed.
Gene has retired.
His final flight was Flight 212 from Boston to San Francisco.
Grandma and I were aboard.
Row 34.
Danny flew beside him.
When the aircraft landed, the airport welcomed Gene’s final flight with the traditional water salute.
The passengers applauded.
Grandma cried.
I cried.
Gene tried to thank everyone over the intercom and had to stop halfway through.
Danny later became a captain.
When he received his fourth stripe, he mailed Grandma a photograph.
The old silver wings were tucked inside his captain’s hat.
Grandma turned eighty-one recently.
She told me what she wanted for her birthday.
San Francisco.
March fourteenth.
Flight 212.
I booked the tickets immediately.
Economy.
Row 34.
