His mouth came open a fraction of an inch, and his whole face changed, from ordinary professional courtesy to something raw, as though he had just seen a person he’d never expected to see again, and was afraid the person might disappear if he moved.
For one long breath, nobody in that part of the terminal moved at all.
Then the pilot began walking toward us, quickly.
Not a stride.
Almost a run.
I straightened in my seat.
“Dad,” I said. “Is there something wrong with our boarding passes?”
But before I could finish, the pilot reached him and opened both his arms.
Dad rose slowly from his chair.
And the two men held each other.
It was not a polite handshake.
It was not the stiff pat on the shoulder you give an old coworker.
