Tori thought she could leave four children with me while she flew to Japan, but she forgot one important detail: I had a flight of my own that afternoon, and I wasn't canceling it this time.

By mid-November, the first light dusting of snow had kissed the roof of the barn.

In the front hallway, beside the grandfather clock that ticked with steady, unyielding precision, sat my burgundy Samsonite suitcase. On top of it lay my navy blue wool coat, my leather gloves, and a brand-new boarding pass printed on crisp cardstock: *Boston Logan to Lisbon Humberto Delgado.*

Caleb stood in the doorway, holding a thermos of hot tea he had brewed for my ride to the airport.

"The car service will be here in ten minutes, Mom," he said softly.

"I know," I replied, adjusting the silk scarf Arthur had bought me in Florence forty years ago. "The kids are all set for school?"

"Leo made Maya’s lunch," Caleb said with a faint, proud smile. "And the twins actually found both of their shoes on the first try. We’re going to be fine, Mom. Really."

I walked over to him, looking up into the face of the boy I had raised, now finally hardened into a man of honor.

"I know you will be, Caleb," I said, patting his cheek. "You don't need my permission to be happy. And you certainly don't need my permission to lead your family."

"I left something for you," Caleb said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, velvet-lined jeweler’s box. "I found it in Dad's safe deposit box when we were sorting through the estate files. He told the bank manager to hold it until I was ready to give it to you."

I took the box with trembling fingers and lifted the lid.

Inside rested a delicate, gold charm in the shape of a miniature compass, engraved on the reverse side with six simple words:

*Wherever you fly, you are home.*

A tear slipped down my cheek, warm against the chill of the morning air. I closed the box and tucked it safely into my purse, right beside my passport.

Outside, the crunch of tires on gravel announced the arrival of the town car.

"Have a wonderful flight, Mom," Caleb whispered, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "Send us a postcard from Sintra."