amazed, he said, “You’re the man from that story.”
Dad grew very quiet.
The gentle smile he’d worn all morning vanished.
The rude stranger who’d laughed at him in the security line had disappeared, and in his place stood a man who looked as if he’d been caught stealing from a church.
He turned the phone toward me.
“You seriously don’t know who your father is?”
My heart began to pound.
“What does that mean?”
“Sir,” said the captain, firmly but politely. “Please put the phone away. For now.”
Chad hesitated.
Then he lowered it.
I rose from my chair.
My father still held the silver wings in his palm, and his fingers had gone white around them.
“Why does everyone seem to know something about you that I don’t?” I asked.
Dad looked at the floor.
I had spent my whole life believing I knew my father.
