“That might be against regs.” Laughter. Then, “I hate to do this, but right now, we need to put Sky King’s operation on probation. No incidents for six months. Otherwise, we’ll have to pull your FBO license.”

Nothing from his father, and Dodge leaned out of the office to get a look. The old man was nodding, his hand behind his neck, massaging a tense muscle back there.

Dodge didn’t recognize the other man, but he wore a shirt with a NATB badge on the breast, so he did the quick math. National Air Transportation Board.

“Well, thanks for coming out, Dwayne.” His father held out his hand.

“I hear your son is back and is flying for you.”

“Dodge. Out of the Air Force. That boy sure knows how to fly. My best student. Did you know he flew a combat chopper over in Afghanistan?”

Dodge stiffened.

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Even got shot down. Got a Purple Heart. Scared me to death.” Barry was walking Dwayne to the door.

“I’ll bet. How’s he doing?”

“Seems fine. Quiet. You know how it is, right? After war.”

Dwayne nodded. “How are the other boys?” They reached the door, and Barry opened it, turning to Dwayne, but Dodge didn’t hear his words.

His father knew about the crash. And his injury.

And he’d never written. Never come to see him. But what did Dodge expect? His father had made it pretty clear how he felt about him long ago.

The door closed, and Dodge moved back into the office to check the schedule. His docket was clear for now.

“I saw the chopper outside. Didn’t hear you come in.” His father stood at the door, and Dodge turned.

“Yeah.”

“Deke called this morning to check on you. Said you’d brought in a dog to Anuk last night.”

“Echo’s dog. Got attacked by a grizzly.”

“Oh no. How is she?” He wore a University of Alaska sweatshirt, a pair of baggy jeans, and his worn, blue Sky King cap. He’d shaved, showered, and frankly looked more ready to hop in a plane than Dodge did. Except, of course, for the cast and sling.

“It was a little dicey,” Dodge said. “Had a terrible gash, a broken leg. But she had surgery, and Anuk says she’ll live.”

“That’s good, but I meant Echo.” Barry raised an eyebrow.

“Fine, I guess.”

“You guess? You didn’t talk to her?”

“Of course I talked to her. We . . . talked.” Smells of last night’s lasagna still embedded the kitchen. He wondered if there might be leftovers.

“You talked? Really?”

“There’s nothing really to talk about. We said some things, but it doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” He turned to head out.