“I’ll call from the gate,” I said.

He waited until I’d picked up my canvas duffel before he turned back toward the driver’s door.

By eight thirty, Security Checkpoint 4 was a slow crawl of shuffling feet and heavy plastic bins.

The smell of floor wax was strong near the metal detectors, mixed with the stale air of five hundred people waiting in line.

The TSA officer at lane four held my military ID card under his desk lamp for seven seconds.

“Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Miller,” the officer read out loud.