Fifteen Years After My Father Changed the Locks, He Seated Me at Table Twenty-Two

“We still have twenty minutes before the parking lot gates close,” David said.

Clare shifted closer to me on the metal hood, resting her chin on her hand.

“Tell me about Scott, Evie.

Tell me what your office looks like.”

“It has a big oak desk,” I told her, “and a window that looks out over the flight line.

Every morning at seven, two C-130 transports take off for training runs over the valley.”

“And your house?”