Tyler looked toward the flight crew.
Then toward me.
“Claire, please. There’s a crew conference room down the hall.”
“You know where it is?” I asked.
“Of course I know where it is.”
“Good. Lead the way.”
For the first time in our marriage, Tyler obeyed without arguing.
—
The room was small and windowless, with a scratched table, six plastic chairs, a coffee machine, and an airline safety poster curling away from the wall.
It smelled faintly of burnt coffee and industrial cleaner.
Mason sat beside me.
Vanessa sat across from us.
Tyler remained standing.
I noticed he had taken off his pilot cap.
For some reason, that mattered.
Without it, without the uniformed confidence, without the cockpit door between him and everyone else, he looked smaller.
Ordinary.
Human.
Mason’s backpack rested in his lap.
The folded corner of his drawing stuck out of the front pocket.
I couldn’t look at it for long.
