“He wrote about you,” she said.

“In his letters home.

He said you were the best stick in the squadron and the worst loser at cards, and that if he ever got in real trouble up there, you were the one he’d want on his wing.” She squeezed my arm.

“He got his wish, at the end.

You were on his wing.

It just wasn’t a thing anyone could have flown out of.

Do you hear me?