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greet her. How could he not kiss her? For two years at college they’d spent nearly every night together. But while he was in-country, they’d broken up, or sort of broken up. Maybe they’d broken up before he left. He didn’t know where they were. Were they now supposed to shake hands when they met? When he next saw her, he didn’t want it to be in public.
    Where were his parents? He tried to raise their faces in his mind. Had he seen them without knowing?
    Now he saw his father making his way through the crowd. Marshall raised his hand awkwardly to bat at a white balloon that drifted across his face: WELCOME TOMMY. Behind him was Lydia. They were both smiling. Of course, once Conrad saw them, they were utterly familiar: tall and lanky, both slightly gawky.
    When Marshall reached Conrad, he put his arms around his son. They hugged, shoulder to shoulder. Conrad was surprised by his father’s body. It seemed thin and insubstantial: Had it changed, or had he? Compared with the solid, muscular density of Marines, Marshall seemed almost frail. It was not the way he’d ever thought of his father. Conrad turned, and Lydia moved into him, putting her arms completely around him, and he felt the thump of her sob against his chest.
    When she drew away, there were tears in her eyes and she was laughing. She said, “I had the craziest idea. I was afraid I wouldn’t recognize you. I couldn’t call up your whole face, only parts of it.”
    The crowd was swirling around them, ebullient. Jackson came over to them, his arm around the Monkey. He stood apart, waiting politely to be seen.
    â€œJackson,” said Conrad.
    Jackson was short, with a long head and fleshy ears. He had low, beetling brows and gleaming blue eyes, skin mildly pitted with acne.
    â€œLT, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Helena,” Jackson said formally.
    â€œHello, Lieutenant Farrell.” Helena smiled at him. She had a very red mouth, loose dark ringlets, a small cleft in her chin. “I’m glad to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
    â€œGlad to meet you, too, Helena.”
    Conrad nodded politely, not mentioning that he’d heard about her as well. It was strange seeing her in the flesh, lipstick smudges on her teeth, strands of dark hair clinging to her damp throat. Strange to see this physical manifestation of Jackson’s other life. His new life, under this darkening California sky, a small evening wind rustling the leaves overhead. Strange to think that this was the last time he would see Jackson in this way. The balance had already shifted: Jackson’s arm was around the Monkey. His allegiance was now to her, or to whoever came after her. He’d never again be under Conrad’s command.
    The last four years were being dismantled around him, subsiding, melting away in a silent cascade. Their shared life was over: from now on, for the rest of their lives, they would share only a past, never the present. It was as though Jackson himself were vanishing before his eyes. Though what they shared would always be there. Part of their life was fluid, part fixed.
    â€œAll right, Jackson. Have a good evening.”
    â€œYou, too, sir,” said Jackson.
    Conrad thought of the Monkey’s legs wrapped around Jackson’s waist, that graphic, flamboyant welcome, the public declaration of a different life. He thought of Claire. Everything was breaking up and changing.
    As Conrad turned back, he saw Anderson, ten feet away. He was talking to his parents, his arm around his girlfriend.
    â€œExcuse me one moment,” Conrad said to his parents. “I want to say goodbye to someone.”
    Anderson saw him coming over.
    â€œHey, LT,” he said. “Like you to meet my mom and dad, Chuck and Nita Anderson. And my girlfriend, Sue-Ann Hanson.” Everyone smiled. Sue-Ann was fat but pretty, with liquid blue eyes and springy blond hair.
    Conrad shook hands with the