"She flew away," I whispered, tears in my eyes from how much it hurt where he grabbed me.

"I'm never again going to lose someone I love like that," Granddaddy hissed, as my fingers popped and cracked in his grip. "That's Satan's work, a mockery of God."

He was wrong. Flying was being closer to God, not running away from Him. It was everything Brother Hardison said prayer was supposed to be. My heart ached fit to burst for Granddaddy, but he'd never believe me if I tried to explain.

"You're on restriction," Granddaddy said, "from now on. You'll be home when you're not in school or church. And I'll be nailing your window shut so you won't sneak out when I'm asleep."

That night I said the names of the astronauts over and over again like a prayer, seeing that smoke cloud from the shuttle in my mind like God's finger pointing up to His Heaven.

A couple of weeks later as I came out of school to catch the bus, Granddaddy was standing on the steps.

"Come on, Ronnie."

"Yes, sir."

We got in the pickup. Granddaddy started it up and drove out onto U.S. Highway 183.

I watched the ranches go flickering by. "Where we going, sir?"

"Austin." He didn't explain any further.

An hour later we pulled into the parking lot of a hobby shop. Granddaddy walked in, trusting me to follow. He was right--I would have given my front teeth to have a place like this close to home. Models, rockets, electric trains, everything I could ever want.

He marched up to the counter. "I want your biggest space shuttle model, and all the supplies we'll need to build it."

It took me a while to close my mouth.

For the next few weeks, we built the model on the dining room table and ate in the kitchen. The gantry was almost four feet high, the big orange belly tank three feet tall. I'd never even seen Granddaddy so much as glue two toothpicks together before, but he was real good. He let me do a lot of the work, but showed me how on the hard parts. Sometimes he'd set his hands on mine, and that was almost like being touched by Momma or Daddy again. Granddaddy had never touched me before except to whip me or to drag me along somewhere.

Working on that model together was almost as good as flying. We even laughed a few times. One night he walked into my room and took the nails out of my window. "I'm trusting you, Ronnie," was all he said.

When we were almost done, it was time to place the decals on the model.

"No," I said. "Not Challenger."

Granddaddy raised his eyebrows. "One of the others?"

"McAuliffe. After the teacher."

"I know who she was." He looked at the decal sheet. "They didn't include that one."

"I want it." I felt stubborn suddenly, like fighting.

"All right," he said.

I didn't expect that, no hard words for my backtalk or nothing. Instead Granddaddy got a 00 brush out and the gloss black paint. He just barely tipped the brush into the paint, sighed, and stared at the model. After a few moments, Granddaddy reached over and painted a perfect "M" in four quick strokes.

"Wow," I said.

He smiled at me, the first time I'd seen that since before Momma died. "I studied to be an architect. First thing they teach you is lettering."

I thought about that. "But you're a surveyor."

His smile died. "First there was the war, then your grandmother, then your Momma. I never got to finish college."

I hugged him, hugged him so tight I thought his ribs might crack. Then he finished painting the letters.

Real early the next morning I slipped on my Keds and stuck the glued-together protractor in my pocket. Then I went and knocked on Granddaddy's door. I needed to show him the most important thing I knew.

"Sir," I whispered real loud. "Wake up, sir."

"What is it, Ronnie?" Through the door, his voice sounded like he'd never been asleep.

"Get dressed and come outside. I want to show you something. It's important, sir."

"Ronnie..." he started to say, his voice a warning. Then I could hear him sigh. "All right, boy."

When he came into the living room, I had the McAuliffe cradled in my arms, the empty gantry left behind on the dining table. "Come on, sir," I said.

We walked through the pre-dawn gloom, listening the late-hunting nighthawks argue with the morning's first wrens.

We stood on top of Chamberlain's hill. The east had that glowing coal color again. The cows were quiet that morning.

"Ronnie," Granddaddy began, but I grabbed his hand and shushed him.

"Take one of the McAuliffe's wings," I said, "and stretch your arms out real far."

"This is wrong, Ronnie."

"Just do it," I said. Tears stood in my eyes. "For me. For Momma."

The model was heavy as we each grabbed one wing. McAuliffe's nose kept dipping down, and I had to twist my wrist back to hold her level. "Now close your eyes and run down the hill," I said to Granddaddy. "And when I tell you to, jump into the sky. Just forget how to fall."

He shook his head, but he closed his eyes.

Carrying our regrets between us, my Granddaddy and I scrambled down the dew-soaked grass, running together at the angle of my dreams.