Tyler froze.
The question was so simple. So innocent.
For a moment, the confident pilot who had just addressed an entire aircraft seemed unable to form a sentence.
“Of course I do, buddy,” he finally said.
Mason held out the drawing.
Tyler took it.
He glanced at the crooked letters, the blue airplane, and the little stick figures standing beneath it. Then he folded the paper and slipped it into his uniform pocket.
“Thanks, buddy.”
Mason didn’t smile.
“Okay.”
That single word sounded more devastating than any argument I could have had with Tyler.
I took my son’s hand and walked away.
Tyler called after us.
“Wait! We need to talk about this.”
I stopped but didn’t turn around.
“No, Tyler. We don’t need to talk about what happened on that plane. We all heard you.”
“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”
