Her hand on his shoulder. “Giddy, I’ve been stuck on you since I was nine years old, in Winnebago. I kept track of you all through the war, though I never once saw you. Then I lost you. Giddy, when I was a kid I used to look at you from the sidewalk through the hedge of the house on Cass. Honestly. Honestly, Giddy.”

“But look at me now. Why, Mary, I’m — I’m no good. Why, I don’t see how you ever knew — — ”

“It takes more than a new Greek nose and French clothes and a bum arm to fool me, Gid. Do you know, there were a lot of photographs of you left up in the attic of the Cass Street house when we bought it. I know them all by heart, Giddy. By heart� . Come on home, Giddy. Let’s go home.”