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Milo thought this was the greatest secret he had ever been trusted with.
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He packed his little headphones, a bag of gummy bears, and a drawing he had made of his dad flying an airplane. Across the top, in giant, crooked letters, he had written, “BEST PILOT EVER.”
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Getting through the airport without being spotted was harder than I expected.
At one point, Milo suddenly grabbed my sleeve and whispered, “Mom. MOM.”
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Weston was walking across the terminal less than thirty feet away from us.
I practically dragged Milo into a gift shop and pretended to be fascinated by refrigerator magnets until Weston disappeared around the corner.
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Milo was trying so hard not to laugh that his whole face turned red.
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We finally boarded and found our seats toward the back.
“Do you think Dad knows?” he whispered.
“No chance.”
“Can I tell the flight attendant?”
“No.”
“What if I just tell one person?”
