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She still had no idea what he felt for her, if anything, other than brotherly affection. She had been almost certain that the only thing that had brought him to Boston was friendship. He hadn't indicated anything other than that, and he didn't now. Sometimes he was almost fatherly to her. And yet, there was always an undercurrent of something deeper and more mysterious between them. She was not sure if she was imagining it, or if there was something else there that they were both afraid of. “I'll write to you,” she promised, and he knew she would.

He loved getting her letters. The intricacy of them, and the skill with which she wrote, amazed him. They were almost like short stories, and more often than not they either touched his heart or made him laugh.

“I'll try to see you over Christmas. But Charles and I are going to be pretty busy,” Joe said as she thought that she would have liked to offer to come to see him, but she didn't dare. She knew her parents would have been deeply upset by it. Her mother was already concerned that she had spent so much time with him over Thanksgiving, and even Joe sensed that.

He didn't want to push it, and offend them.

“Just take care of yourself, Joe. Fly safely.” She said it with a tone of obvious concern, which touched him. She looked so sweet as she said the words.

“You do the same, and don't flunk out of school,” he teased, and she laughed. And then, with a funny little pat on her shoulder, he opened the front door for her with her key, and then ran quickly down the stairs and waved to her from the sidewalk.

It was as though he had to get away from her before he did something he knew he shouldn't. She smiled as she walked through the front door, and closed it quietly behind her.

It had been an odd three days with him, they had been times of warmth and ease and friendship. And the wonder of flying with him. She told herself, as she walked slowly up the stairs, that she was glad she had met him. One day she would tell her children about him.

And there was no doubt in her mind that when she did, they would not be his children. His life was already full, with airplanes and flying and test flights and engines. There was no room for a woman in it, not much anyway, and surely not for a wife and children. He had said as much to her on Cape Cod at the end of the summer, and again over the weekend. People were a sacrifice he was willing to make, for the sake of his passion for flying and planes.