Chapter Nine: Plane Recognition

 I think about the woman on my way down to the Hangar Bay, asking questions like: What does she mean when she says, "The name is familiar," and Why is she so intent on learning as much about Ted as she can? Something's not adding up, but I can't worry about that woman. I have things to consider, too—if it was too early to announce, "I am William!" being one of them. I know who I am, but I don't know. Am I William, or am I Bill? Regardless, I want to make Ted proud, which means getting close to that Corsair again.

 My knees shake when I exit the elevator and see my mortal enemy sitting there like a crime show criminal. It doesn't make sense; I talked with the Corsair earlier, and now I sweat, seeing it again.

 I bump into Temple in the opposite direction, rolling a wheeled cart before the Skyraider.

 He turns and beams. "Oh, Bill! There you are!" He pats the rug-like covering over the cart's top. "I want to introduce you to one of the Education Carts before you leave."

 I cock my head. "Education Cart?" I remember he mentioned them during orientation. "Aren't we a little old for school?" Oh, gee, I did it again!

 Temple laughs. "You're hilarious, Bill! Were you considered the comedian in the Navy?"

 "No, I was just a guy," I answer, blushing. "I'm sorry, Temple. I can't keep my mouth in check."

 "Don't be. I like it," Temple admits. "Anyway, you're never too old to learn. This is one of the three Education Carts we currently have. This is a good one for you to start with."

 "Why?"

 Temple holds up his index finger and gestures at the cart's front. "Look at the front of the cart. What do you see?"

 I step back and study the front like Temple asks, and my mouth drops. On the cart's front is a black-and-white photo of a Japanese torpedo-bomber, the Kate, getting shot down over the ocean. I know it's the Kate because of that extended canopy and long wings, even though there's not much left of them.

 "It's a Kate," I say aloud.

 "Correct." Temple parks the cart and unlocks it. He opens its doors and pulls out a red basket. "We shot down that Kate while filming The Fighting Lady." He lifts an eyebrow. "I'm assuming you haven't watched it yet?"

 "Um..." My voice trails. I suddenly feel like the biggest traitor in all of Patriots Point.

 "I hope you do," Temple continues. "It's a great overview of Yorktown."

 I swear, why hasn't he fired me yet? I'm an asshole.

 Temple sets the basket on the cart and removes a black, 3D-printed model of a Corsair. "This particular cart is for Plane Recognition, something I'm sure you're familiar with."

 Plane Recognition—that rings a bell. Ted and I didn't join the Navy when the WEFT Method peaked; we used the Flash Method and Viewmaster, a cool machine.

 "Granted," Temple continues, placing the model Corsair on the cart, "these are World War II planes in this box, but surely, you know at least a few of them. You know the Kate."

 Here comes my cheeky smile. "Test me."

 Temple returns my smile, but his is more friendly than cheeky. He removes another model from the box and holds it out to me.

 "Oh!" I recognize the fat bomb bay under the enormous aircraft. "That's an Avenger! George H.W. Bush flew one of those guys."

 Temple nods. "Correct." He sets the Avenger down beside the Corsair. "What about this one?"

 Oh, this is an easy one. The model airplane's square-shaped wings and high canopy with a straight line down to the tail give it away. "Hellcat."

 "That's right!" Temple points at the other models on the cart. "What about the rest of them?"

 I start with the American aircraft above the Japanese aircraft from the beginning: "Avenger, Corsair"—I cringe—"Hellcat, Dauntless, and Helldiver. It looks like a torpedo-bomber, two fighters, and two dive-bombers." My eyes move to the Japanese aircraft next. "I see a Val, Judy, Kate, and Zero: two dive-bombers, a torpedo-bomber, and a fighter." I feel so bright all of a sudden, especially when Temple says:

 "Huh. Well done, William."

 "Bill," I politely remind him.

 "Bill," Temple corrects. "It's interesting, you know? You flew in the Korean War, yet you know all these aircraft."

 "Well, um..." I clear my throat and rub my sweaty palms together. "Te-Ted and I enjoyed learning about the warplanes during World War II." I gulp. "The Cor-Corsair was the first one we learned. I-I also read many books about warplanes."

 Temple points at me. "Let me guess—you've stayed away from books about aircraft carriers and Corsairs since The Incident?"

 I gulp again and lower my voice. "Yeah." Temple should fire me here and now, but he merely shakes his head.

 "I know you said we're too old for school, Bill, but I'm going to give you a homework assignment for the rest of the week until you return next week."

 Homework assignment? Why does this man keep toying with me?

 "I want you to watch The Fighting Lady on YouTube—it's free—and Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo," Temple includes. "You actually don't need to pay for it. You can stream it for free on Tubi."

 What the hell is a Tubi?

 "It's a streaming platform," Temple answers before I ask my question. "It has ads, but there are many old movies on it... including Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo. After watching the movies, whip up a quick little thing about your thoughts on them. Sometimes, writing about what hurts is the best therapy."

 "Temple, were you a therapist before you became the Volunteer Coordinator?" I find myself asking.

 "Oh, hell no," he replies. There's a sudden flicker of sadness in his eyes. "But I've worked with veterans suffering from PTSD here. It's my job to look out for you guys. And... well... another thing."

 "Did you lose a best friend?" is my next question.

 He hesitates but shakes his head again. "Not a friend, but my daughter."

 His... oh, gosh. Now, I feel even worse about my crummy attitude. "Oh no, I'm so sorry."

 "It's been ten years," Temple continues. His voice turns stern. "I know your situation is a little different, Bill, but remember that you're not the only one who has lost a loved one."

 Goosebumps prickle on my arms. That's the most serious I've seen Temple since starting here.

 He clears his throat. "Anyway, why don't we keep the Education Cart out for the remaining thirty minutes of your shift? Get some practice in for you?"

 "Sure," I reply, the world's weight crashing on my shoulders while I consider Temple's words. I'm tempted to ask him how his daughter died, but I know that's rude. Regardless, I wonder if he'll tell me if I come clean about Ted.

 A lump forms in my throat. Why is Temple so good at toying?

 "My daughter was eighteen years old when she died," Temple explains, crossing his arms. "Not much younger than your friend, I supposed?"

 Stop, Temple, please. I don't want to get reminded that I'm a murderer. Did Natalie tell him I killed Ted?

 "Ted was twenty-one," I say aloud, looking away. I quickly study Yorktown's Hangar Bay and see it's not too busy. No one's approaching the cart right now.

 Temple nods. "You didn't recognize him, right?"

 "No," I answer. The lump in my throat grows. "The snowstorm. I just..." I clutch my head and grip my glasses. "I didn't recognize him."

 Temple simpers. "You're doing well, Bill. You're opening up—talking about your friend's death instead of concealing it, which aggravates your guilt. Just know this." He begins to leave. "It's never your fault. Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo and The Fighting Lady this week, sir. I'll return to help you put the cart away in thirty minutes."

 "Yes, sir." I give him a weak salute and watch as he disappears down the ladder behind the Cougar.

 While waiting for the next thirty minutes, I think about Ted and Temple's daughter. I want to know how Temple's daughter died. I came somewhat clean to him, so he should come clean to me. Or... maybe he doesn't think I'm ready? That would make sense, too. I've only been here two days, and while I made some progress on the Flight Deck with the woman, I'm still struggling. How on Earth will Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo and The Fighting Lady help me?

 Sadly, no one visits the Education Cart during Temple's thirty minutes of absence, so I can't escape my confined emotions; I can only bundle them up like coat layers. But many questions do swarm in my head. Temple's kind, but he's also mysterious. I feel like he's testing me. That's another sign of a good boss—always looking for opportunities for their colleagues to grow.

 I am preparing to leave the Education Cart and ask the Information Desk about Temple when two little kids sprint to the cart, their parents close behind. They look no more than six or seven. The girl's hair is dirty blonde, and there are freckles on her cheeks. However, the boy looks exactly like Ted when he was his age: a little skinny with tan skin, curly blonde hair, and blue eyes. He looks so much like him that I stumble backward but catch myself on the rope protecting the airplanes in the Hangar Bay. My chest tightens, and what's left of my hair sticks up like static electricity.

 The children's parents stop, and the mother questions, "Would you two like to learn about History?"

 "Yes," the children say simultaneously.

 "All right, then." The mother gestures at me. "Let's ask the nice man here."

 I try not to stare at the boy, but his resemblance to Ted is too perfect.

 "Will you teach us about History?" the boy sweetly says. He scoops up the Val on the cart and checks its fixed wheels.

 My heart pounds, but I inhale and nod. "I'll try."

 The children cheer and fix their eyes on me, their parents, too.

 "So, during World War II..." My voice shakes slightly. "You need to know the difference between a friend and a foe. It was common for pilots to accidentally shoot friends down early in the war." My voice quivers more, but I push on. "Therefore, the Navy developed Airplane Recognition."

 As I continue the lecture, gradually, my shoulders relax, and I notice that my voice doesn't shake as much. "Before 1942, we used the WEFT Method for identifying aircraft. It stands for Wings, Engine, Fuselage—or the body of the airplane—and Tail for identifying the aircraft." I point out the different parts of the airplane while I explain this. "We also would hang 3D models of the airplanes in the Ready Rooms for the pilots to study during meetings. Do you kids know what a Ready Room is?"

 They look at me confusingly.

 "It's where we're briefed about our pre-flight and post-flight operations, so our mission, our target, everyone attending the mission"—I wave my hand—"so on, so on."

 My voice hitches when I notice Temple watching me from the Information Booth. When on Earth did he come up here? His face reads confidence, but mine now reads anxiety, and the boy isn't helping.

 "Um..." I try not to look at Temple. "Anyway..." But I'm sick to my stomach and can't stay there anymore. "I'm sorry, you two, but Temple over there will finish the lecture." I glance at the boy one more time before I turn on my heel and escape the fray, heading toward the bathrooms at the end of Hangar Bay 1, past that damn Corsair. I hold my hand up and don't look at it when I reach Hangar Bay 2.

 As soon as I enter the miniature bathroom, I rush to the sink, turn on the water, and splash my face, repeating in my head, Don't show emotion.