twenty-five.
Thirty.
At row 34, he stopped.
Grandma was still by the window.
Oliver had finally begun coloring a purple dinosaur.
The pilot stared at my grandmother.
Then at her purse.
Then at the small silver wings attached near the zipper.
His entire expression changed.
He crouched beside her.
“Where did you get those?”
His voice sounded unsteady.
Grandma looked carefully at him.
The pilot swallowed.
“Mrs. Walsh,” he said, “why did you choose seat 34A?”
I froze several rows away.
He knew her name.
Grandma’s chin began trembling.
“Because
