“That was the idea.” For a moment neither knew what came next. Then Daniel said, “Your mother says you’re taking Boston.” “I think I am.”
“Then take it.” Jack waited for the qualification. None came. His father looked toward the car. “You can tell me why after dinner.”
It was not reconciliation. It was a door unlatched. That evening, after too much food and several hours of relatives asking questions Jack answered selectively, he went upstairs to the bedroom that still contained his high-school drafting board and called Claire. The number rang four times.
A man answered. “Bennett residence.” Jack froze. “Is Claire there?”
“Who’s calling?” “Jack.” There was a pause. Then the man shouted away from the receiver, “Claire! Airport Jack!”
Jack closed his eyes. Claire came on laughing. “I am going to kill my uncle.” “Airport Jack?”
“He names everyone by event.” “I’m honored.” “How was your family?” “Complicated. Better.”
“Mine too.” A warm silence settled. Jack sat on the edge of his childhood bed. “So,” he said, “I have your number.”