A Stranger Crossed My Airstrip and Asked, You're Still Carrying That Photo

"You're still carrying that photo?" the stranger asked me, and then he laid a folder on the wing of my father's old airplane and told me he was the boy in the picture. For thirty-five years I opened the hangar on the first Saturday of August, pulled the plane into the sun and set my missing son's photograph on the wing, the way a man does when he is still waiting. My wife died believing a stranger took our boy off the county road. That morning I found out what was really inside that folder.