pocket.
The ones Ruth had given Michael.
The ones Michael had carried throughout his career.
Dad placed them beside the flowers.
“You got them home, Ruth,” he whispered. “You helped get them home.”
He remained there quietly for several minutes.
When he finally stood, tears glistened on his cheeks.
But he was smiling.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go home.”
During the drive back, Dad took out his silver wings.
He looked at them thoughtfully.
Then he reached toward my car keys in the cupholder.
“Dad, what are you doing?”
“Keep
