Chapter 46: September Again
She came back on a Sunday. The first Sunday of September — exactly one year, almost to the week, from the morning she had stood by the window in the registrar's hall thinking about Portland and looked across the room. The symmetry of it felt right. Boston in early September was the same as it had been a year ago — crisp at the edges, the sky a clean uninterrupted blue, the trees on the campus just beginning to think about turning. The kind of morning that felt like it was supposed to mean something. It did. --- I went to South Station. Her train arrived at eleven-forty. I was at the platform at eleven-twenty, which was perhaps excessive but felt exactly correct. The platform filled gradually — families, students returning for the semester, the ordinary Sunday afternoon crowd of a
- Writer
