I kissed her good night.
“Want me to wait until you get started?”
“I’d rather you didn’t. It’s cold.”
“Would you mind awfully if I did?”
“No.”
“I’d like to see you off.”
“Okay, come on then.”
We found a plane that was ready for charter. By good luck, it happened that the owner-pilot was on the field, chatting with one of the transport pilots who was waiting to board a ship for San Francisco.
When the fast cabin plane had been wheeled out, fueled, and tested, and the motor was warming up, Helen slipped her hand through my arm, stood watching the plane, outlined by the vivid lights against the black night.
The pilot nodded to me. Helen said to the plane, “Take good care of him, airplane,” and then looked up at me. “Happy landings,” she said and turned abruptly away.