“It was nice. That’s all. Just nice.” He exhaled. “But I get with guys and it’s like that bomb they dropped on the Japs. So…”

“Right.”

“Anyway.” O’Hara gestured vaguely around. “Wherever your train departs from, I’ll see you off?”

Kennet hadn’t a clue what station, but a puzzled-looking GI on a city street wasn’t puzzled for long these days. Strangers swooped in to offer directions and advice, getting into heated debates with other strangers about the best route to Grand Central Terminal, the nearest YMCA, the not-to-be-missed attractions or the best goddamn cheesecake you had in your life. And by the way, could they buy Kennet or O’Hara a hot dog? A pretzel? A Coca-Cola? Something to thank them for their service? It was good to have them home. God bless.

The open generosity of the Manhattan populace was unabashed and shameless. It practically crawled inside your clothes. Kennet shied from the ebullience, but oddly, O’Hara seemed to enjoy it. As he and Kennet made their way uptown, his expression was expansive, his stride confident. He looked like he owned the place.

He’s on the prowl, Kennet realized.

At Grand Central, Kennet bought his ticket while O’Hara found a bit of free space. The terminal was a continuation of the mob scene at the piers. The crush of humanity made Kennet dizzy, so he kept his gaze on one short wall of the enormous, vaulted space, where a war bond mural was installed. A tableau of tanks, battleships and aircraft beneath the arch of the ceiling. A giant soldier and sailor standing at parade rest, rifle butt against a foot. A center panel depicted a woman with a baby in her arms, standing high above a gaggle of adorable tykes. The caption read, “That these may face a future unafraid.”

These, Kennet thought. Only these? Or Jewish children, too? What about communist children? Slavs? Poles? Roma? What if one of those youngsters is queer? Do they get a future unafraid?

Good lord, if one more person bumped into him, he was going to blow his stack.

He made his way to the corner where O’Hara was guarding their packs. O’Hara sat on the stack, elbows on knees, his eyes volleying back and forth. Jaw thoughtfully working around a hunk of gum.

He looked grand and casual, Kennet thought, folding the moment into memory.

“You need me, you phone the Fisher Hotel in Clayton,” he said aloud.

“I know. You’ve told me about eight times now.”

“I just don’t want to lose any more buddies.”

Without taking his eyes off the crowd, O’Hara elbowed Kennet’s side. “I’m not averse to being worried about. To be honest, it feels nice.”

“Nice like being with a girl, nice? Or nice like an atom bomb?”

Now O’Hara gave him a long, slow look. “Keep flirting with me and you’ll find out.”