But I couldn’t.
So I did the only thing I could.
I knelt in front of Mason and straightened the strap of his backpack.
“Sweetheart, we’re going to get our bags and go to the hotel. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
He nodded.
Then he looked at his father one last time.
“Dad, do you still want my picture?”
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.
