Porters worked to maneuver trunks through the Saturday crowd, hindered by the clustering of blissful reunions. Over all of this, conductors bellowed their usual scripts of “all aboards” and “last calls.” Shan set down his luggage and scanned the surrounding faces. In the last photograph Lina had sent, she was just eighteen. His mind had preserved that image in a timeless tomb. It hadn’t occurred to him how the additional years could have transformed her features. Removing his fedora, he wiped his forehead with a pocket scarf. The morning air hinted at summer’s coming humidity. “Tommy,” a woman’s voice drifted from behind. He turned but couldn’t spot Lina. Then his name came again and he startled at the caller. “Josie …” She stood before him, clutching her pocketbook, her hands covered in ivory gloves. Her large-brimmed hat matched the black and white of her polka-dotted dress. Its moderately slender cut verified that her figure hadn’t changed. “Welcome back,”
