Richard adjusted his shirt cuff as though entering a board meeting. "Let's be sensible," he said. "Today was unfortunate. Nobody knew who anybody was. The airline will do its report, and we can all put it behind us."
"You seem more concerned about the report than about the girls," Daniel replied.
"I'm concerned about an unnecessary public incident," Richard said. "My name is attached to Northstar's advisory board. I don't want it dragged through some ridiculous disciplinary process because a flight attendant was overenthusiastic."
"Did you encourage her to move the girls?"
Richard hesitated. "I complained about our seating. She offered a solution. I assumed she had authority to do it."
"And when two children told you those seats belonged to them?"
"I was frustrated. I said things I shouldn't have said. Surely you can see that this has become larger than the original mistake."
Daniel studied him. Richard's voice, posture, and choice of words were precisely as he remembered from the study twelve years earlier. He was not asking for a conversation. He was searching for the fastest way to regain control of an outcome he disliked.
"If there's a financial issue," Richard continued, "I'll take care of it. Whatever the girls need. College accounts, a house, family arrangements. Name a number. We can settle the practical side of this before it becomes unpleasant for everyone."
Daniel stared at him. "You haven't even asked their names."
His father's expression faltered. "Of course I know they're your daughters."
"Their names, Dad. Have you asked their names? Have you asked what they like, where they go to school, or whether they're all right after being made to give up their seats? You came up here because you're worried about a report, and you think money will make me forget what happened."
Richard looked past him toward row two, where two birthday badges shone against yellow and blue fabric. He could see the resemblance now: Ruby's determined chin, Pearl's thoughtful gaze, the way they leaned together whenever something confused them. He had spent the last hour trying not to look directly at them, as though the less he saw, the less he would be required to admit.
"What are their names?" he asked quietly.
"Ruby and Pearl," Daniel said. "The captain already told you. Pearl is named for Grandma."
Richard flinched at the second name. His mother had pleaded with him before her death to make peace with Daniel, and he had treated the request as an intrusion on a decision he considered final. Hearing the name in the voice of his own son brought back her last hospital room with a clarity that made him briefly unsteady.
"Your mother tried to talk to me," Richard said, then shook his head as if rejecting the memory. "But this isn't the place."
"No," Daniel agreed. "It isn't. Go back to your seat. We're going to get through this flight and take the girls home. Anything beyond that will require more than an offer of money."