A second agent, an older man who had witnessed the exchange with obvious discomfort from the adjacent desk, stepped over immediately to take over the console. "Right away, Captain. I'll process Zone 4."
James turned back to Thomas. Then, in full view of the crowded gate area, the four-stripe captain did something nobody in that terminal had ever seen an airline commander do.
He bent down, picked up Thomas's heavy, battered canvas duffel bag, slung the strap over his own shoulder, and extended his right arm.
"May I have the honor of walking you aboard, Mr. Ellis?"
Thomas hesitated, glancing self-consciously at the pristine white fabric of the captain's sleeve. "Captain... my coat. I’ve got mortar dust all over me. I’ll ruin your shirt."
"Mr. Ellis, the men and women who build this country with their hands have nothing to apologize for," James said softly. "My father worked forty years as a custodian right here on these concourses. He taught me that the people in the dustiest clothes are usually the ones doing the most honorable work. Now, take my arm. Let’s go meet your granddaughter."
Thomas took a shaky breath, reached out, and hooked his calloused arm through the captain's.
As they passed through the gate threshold and entered the long corridor of the jet bridge, the waiting crowd did not remain silent. The man in the charcoal suit took off his glasses, stepped back against the wall, and quietly clapped his hands together. A few seats down, an elderly woman joined in. Within seconds, a wave of genuine, heartfelt applause rippled through the passengers lining the corridor.
Walking down the sloping bridge toward the aircraft, the muffled rumble of jet engines vibrating through the floorboards, Thomas felt the tension that had gripped his chest all afternoon finally break.
"Eleanor would have liked you, Captain," Thomas murmured softly. "She always had a soft spot for polite young men."
"She sounds like an extraordinary woman, sir," James replied, matching his pace to the old man's slow, measured gait.
At the aircraft door, the lead flight attendant—a woman named Karen with silver-streaked hair and twenty-five years of flying experience—was waiting. James had already radioed the cabin interphone from the gate console two minutes earlier.
When Thomas stepped through the cabin door, Karen stepped forward with a radiant, welcoming smile. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Ellis! Congratulations on your new granddaughter!"
Karen gently took his jacket to hang it in the first-class wardrobe, but Thomas politely shook his head, holding it closer. "Thank you, ma'am, but if it's all the same to you, I'd rather keep it with me. My wife was supposed to fix the cuff."
"Of course, sir," Karen said gently, touching his shoulder. "Whatever makes you most comfortable."
James personally walked Thomas down the aisle to row 24, stowed the canvas bag in the overhead locker, and helped the elderly mason settle into seat 24C. Thomas sank back into the cushioned seat, feeling the cool air from the overhead vent wash across his face, and let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief.