A night maintenance worker was pushing a broad dust mop down the middle of the aisle, leaving fresh streaks on the gray linoleum.

I sat down on a metal bench by the boarding door, took out my phone, and called my father’s home number in Dublin, Ohio.

He picked up on the very first ring, his deep, resonant voice flat and wide awake even though it was three in the morning back home.

“Valerie,” my father said.

“Give me your report.”

I gave him the facts in order without stopping.

Twenty-two degrees outside.