More gray at the temples.
Same careful manner.
Owen looked nervous.
“Got a minute?”
“Yes.”
Owen closed the door.
“That charter jet in Bay Three.”
“What about it?”
“I found something.”
Caleb listened.
Owen explained.
A discrepancy.
Not dramatic.
Uncertain.
The aircraft was scheduled for an important client flight the next morning.
Owen had told his supervisor.
Supervisor suggested monitoring.
Owen was not comfortable.
“What do you think?” Caleb asked.
Owen hesitated.
“I think it needs more inspection.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because the client’s already upset.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Owen looked down.
“I don’t want to be the guy who delays it.”
Caleb leaned back.
Ten years vanished.
Glass office.
Graham Voss.
Meridian.
The cardboard box.
“Whose name goes on the release?”
“Mine.”
“Then whose decision is it?”
Owen looked at him.
“Mine.”
“Good.”
“What if I’m wrong?”
Caleb smiled slightly.
“Then we inspected an airplane unnecessarily.”
“And if I’m right?”
“You already know.”
Owen nodded.
“Ground it.”
He turned toward the door.
“Hey.”
Owen looked back.
“You’re not alone.”
The young mechanic smiled.
“I know.”
That was the difference.
Not that Northstar never made mistakes again.
That nobody making the safe choice had to wonder whether thirty-seven people would need to walk outside before management listened.
Nora eventually went to college.
She chose aerospace engineering.
Caleb pretended not to be proud enough to become unbearable.
He failed.
At twenty-two, she interned with an aircraft manufacturer.
On her first day, Caleb texted:
Remember: engineers make it complicated so mechanics have something to complain about.
Nora replied:
Mechanics break what engineers design.
Ronan, now seventy, somehow got included in the text chain.
He wrote:
Both of you are wrong. Pilots break everything.
That Christmas, Nora came home.
The original wooden airplane ornament still existed.
Paint faded.
Silver marker almost gone.
Caleb hung it every year.
Nora saw him place it near the center.
“You still have that?”
“Obviously.”
“It’s hideous.”
“You made it.”
“I was eight.”
“Excuse accepted.”
She looked at it more carefully.
“That was the year you got fired.”
“Yes.”
“You never tell the story the same way everybody else does.”
“What do you mean?”
“People make it sound like you were brave.”
Caleb laughed.
“I was terrified.”
“I know.”
“I had rent.”
“You had me.”
“That was the terrifying part.”
Nora smiled.
“Was I expensive?”
“Still are.”
She hit his arm.
Then became serious.
“I remember the tree.”
“So do I.”
“I didn’t know people bought everything.”
“No.”
“I thought you did.”
Caleb looked at the lights.
“I wanted you to.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want you scared.”
Nora leaned against the table.