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On a cargo run to Laredo, Vivian crossed the border to shop for the girls.

At a tourist trap in Nuevo Laredo, she found just the right gifts: two nearly identical ceramic piggy banks, painted with festive swirls of color.

She planned to stop in Enid on her way back to Kansas City and didn’t want to show up empty handed.

Even though the ceramic banks were cheap, she knew she ought not to spend the money. The girls didn’t need a thing. And while she hadn’t asked George for a loan in over a year, she also hadn’t sent her a payment in nearly that long.

But Aunt Vivian always brought gifts when she visited—the girls would expect something. And George had recently purchased her own plane—a brand-new Cessna Businessliner. She needed her loan repaid about as much as the girls needed the piggy banks.

Vivian had hoped the plane might make George happy in a way that her marriage clearly didn’t.

She hated causing strife between George and Tom.

She’d hated to think George envied her flying life.

Especially since her life was far from enviable.

George had money and a house and a beautiful family.

Everything a woman was supposed to want. All Vivian had was flying.

She did all right. Between the cargo runs and the lessons and her frugal habits (gifts for the girls notwithstanding), she covered her expenses.

Her bookkeeping days were far behind her.

She hadn’t accepted a date just for the free meal in ages.

But ask pretty much anyone and Vivian knew they’d say George had the better life.

And yet, she sensed that for George it wasn’t nearly enough.

Back on the US side of the border, she called George from a pay phone to let her know she’d arrive the following day.

She looked forward to a home-cooked meal.

To playing tag with the girls. If they still played games like tag.

They were growing up. The way they spoke, the way they moved—they were George through and through.

Vivian loved seeing her friend reflected in their young faces.

She also loved it when they flung themselves at her in welcome, and when they argued about who got to sit next to her at dinner.

She was their special aunt, the one who never arrived without something for them.

And they were so thoroughly George’s children, it was impossible to imagine that one of them had ever been hers at all.