the copilot’s seat.
Dad stared at it.
The controls were modern, nothing like those he’d once operated.
Still, his eyes moved across the instruments with familiar understanding.
His hands trembled as he approached.
Finally, he lowered himself into the seat.
I stood in the doorway.
For nearly a minute, he said nothing.
Then he lightly touched the controls.
“I always thought sitting here again would bring everything back,” he whispered.
Michael sat beside him.
“Does it?”
Dad closed his eyes.
For several seconds, I could hear only his breathing.
Then
