Pinned near the zipper was a tiny pair of silver wings I had seen there my entire life.
“Where did you get those?” he asked.
Then he noticed the number above her seat.
His voice softened.
“Mrs. Walsh… why did you choose 34A?”
I looked at Grandma.
Until that moment, I had assumed she had simply taken whatever economy seat was available.
But she whispered,
“Because that’s where he told me to sit.”
My stomach tightened.
Grandpa had been gone for twenty-seven years.
The pilot straightened.
“Who told you?”
Grandma slowly opened her purse.
From inside, she pulled out an old boarding pass, folded and yellowed with age.
The pilot took one look at it.
Everything about his expression changed.
My grandmother gave up the first-class seat I bought for her and moved to economy instead. I was annoyed—until a pilot walked through the cabin looking specifically for her.
