The CEO almost laughed.
“You saved a jet worth more than this hangar.”
“It was a cracked fitting.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“Then answer.”
The Single Dad considered.
Finally:
“Let me go home.”
The response caught her completely off guard.
She stepped aside.
“Go.”
He walked toward the exit.
Then stopped.
Turned.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“Next time you fire someone…”
The hangar became silent again.
The CEO raised one eyebrow.
He continued.
“Maybe ask why they’re asleep first.”
Then he left.
The Chief Engineer looked at the floor.
Two technicians suddenly became extremely interested in tools.
The CEO stood perfectly still.
She should have been furious.
Instead, she looked toward the empty doorway and whispered:
“Fair.”
The Single Dad drove home in an aging pickup.
The sun was already above the horizon.
Traffic thickened.
His hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel.
Not from fear.
Fatigue.
His daughter had called twice during the night.
His sister had sent messages.
She’s okay.
Finish what you need.
She says you promised pancakes.
He smiled tiredly.
The guilt remained.
At 7:51, he pulled into a small duplex.
The front door opened before he reached it.
His nine-year-old daughter ran outside wearing pajamas and mismatched socks.
The Single Dad barely had time to put down his bag.
She hit him like a small missile.
“You missed bedtime.”
He hugged her.
“I know.”
“You missed breakfast.”
“I know.”
“You smell horrible.”
“That’s accurate.”
His sister stood in the doorway holding coffee.
“You look dead.”
He smiled.
“Almost.”
His daughter pulled back.
“Did you fix the airplane?”
He looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“You said there was a problem.”
His sister rolled her eyes.
“You apparently explained fuel systems to a nine-year-old at midnight.”
The daughter looked proud.
“Did you fix it?”
The Single Dad crouched.
“We did.”
“Can it fly?”
“Yes.”
“Then pancakes.”
He laughed.
“Pancakes.”
His sister stared.
“You need sleep.”
The daughter shook her head.
“He promised.”
The Single Dad looked toward his sister.
She shrugged.
“Your funeral.”
Twenty minutes later, he stood at the stove making pancakes while barely conscious.
His daughter sat at the table.
Trumpet case beside her.
The Single Dad saw it.
“Practice today?”
She nodded.
“Concert Friday.”
His face changed.