“I carried it on my first solo flight.”
Moments later, a door opened at the front of the cabin.
The captain stepped out.
The first officer must have taken control, because he walked toward us wearing his uniform and carrying something small in one hand.
He stopped beside Mrs. Clooney’s row.
The entitled woman moved her knees aside without being asked.
The captain stepped out.
The captain was perhaps 40 now. Broad-shouldered, composed, silver beginning at his temples.
But when he looked at Mrs. Clooney, the years seemed to leave his face.
He held up a faded birthday card.
Its corners had gone soft.
