He stood about six feet away, still holding
his phone, but it had slipped from his ear, and the voice on the other end was tinny and forgotten.
He was staring at my father as if he had suddenly noticed a hole in the floor.
Mindy had stopped tapping her bracelet.
“Dad,” I said. “Who is this?”
Before he could answer, the captain’s eyes dropped to Dad’s hand.
To the little silver wings.
His smile faltered.
It melted into something I could not name, a look so tender and so stricken that I had to look away.
“You still have them?” he asked quietly.
Dad glanced down.
“Of course.”
“I thought you might have put them away. After all this time.”
My father closed his fingers gently around the keychain.
“Never saw a reason to.”
The captain swallowed hard.
For a moment, neither man spoke.
Whatever those wings meant, it was something large and old, and they were
