Caleb had been vibrating with excitement from the moment his alarm went off.
“Mom.”
It was 5:42 in the morning.
I opened one eye.
He was standing beside my bed completely dressed.
Jeans.
Red sweatshirt.
Sneakers.
Backpack.
Toy airplane already in his hand.
“You said six,” I groaned.
“I know.”
“Then why are you awake?”
“Because Dad is flying a Boeing 737.”
I stared at him.
“You have told me that eleven times.”
“Twelve.”
He grinned.
I threw a pillow at him.
He dodged it and ran down the hall laughing.
Our plan had started three weeks earlier when Darius came home from work, loosened his tie at the kitchen counter, and casually mentioned his Saturday schedule.
“Atlanta and back,” he said.
Caleb immediately looked up from his cereal.
“You’re flying?”
“That’s generally what pilots do.”
“Can I come?”
Darius laughed.
“You have schoolwork.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Then you have extremely important Saturday responsibilities.”
