That was what had come back with me.

Some of his belongings were still in Portugal, waiting for decisions I had been unable to make.

I pulled the larger suitcase away from the carousel.

One corner was scraped, and the zipper had been secured with a black plastic tie that James would have removed as soon as we reached home.

He disliked temporary repairs that quietly became permanent.

He would tolerate a crooked cupboard handle for a week, then spend an entire Saturday finding the correct screw.

Now I was grateful someone had fastened the zipper at all.

I touched the navy tie.

He had worn it to inspections, weddings, and meetings at city offices.

It was not expensive.

He had owned it for years because, once, I had told him the color made him look less tired.

He remembered that remark longer than I did.

A man beside the carousel picked up his own suitcase and glanced at mine.

“Long trip?”