He held me close and kissed me gently…
We drove up the freeway toward a Lockheed Martin Star Dusters picnic to rouse with long-term friends. I rested my hand on his thigh…
We walked out of the airport cafe onto the ramp and stood by the flaps on the back of the left wing, a T-28 Fennec, French warbird. Two people watched us from a distance, unmoving. Their faces were grim.
I reached for hope in the thick aluminum of the flaps, scanned three ancient dings in the skin that I swore were bullet holes from Algeria. He survived, and so can I.
Joe smiled at me. It helped but glancing back at the men, my face grew dark.
“Don’t worry about it, Jenna.”
I prayed for a lighter mood, patted the plane as if he were a giant German Shepherd. “It weighs on me. It’s been years.”
Joe lowered his face and said to me quietly. “Lets go up for a while.”