the man.
He simply reached up and straightened his old veteran’s cap, and looked at me.
His eyes had lost something.
It was the lightest, quietest flicker, like a pilot light going out.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said, softly. “We’re not in any hurry.”
“Dad, he had no right to speak about you like that.”
He squeezed my hand.
“Don’t let someone else’s impatience spoil our morning.”
I wanted to argue.
I wanted to tell that man exactly what I thought of him, in front of the whole line.
But Dad’s face told me he wanted no scene.
So I let it go.
It is the one thing in this story I would do differently.
At the gate, I spotted Chad Hollenbeck almost at once, pacing by the windows, talking too loudly about deadlines and clients.
He was on our flight, Northstar 308, nonstop to Kansas City.
