“Oh! Here you are!” Annie was both startled and embarrassed that she hadn’t recognized her. Years ago she’d read that the first few seconds when connecting with someone set the emotional tone for the entire meeting. She hoped it was one of those common internet lies. “I’m so sorry. With the rain and all the umbrellas . . .” Awkwardly, she stepped aside so Donna could squeeze under the covered entrance.

“I’m sure you’re not accustomed to seeing me in red boots. Neither am I!” Donna gazed around at the confusion. Her hazel eyes seemed as glazed as the horizon, making her appear strangely befuddled. She had aged over the winter.

“Follow me,” Annie said. “I’m parked in the lot.” She took the suitcases without asking. Then she wondered if she also should reach for Donna’s arm to steady her.

No. Murphy’s voice slipped through the raindrops. Give her space. Annie heeded the advice; Murphy had never steered her wrong.

When they reached the Jeep, Donna said, “How about stopping somewhere for a cup of hot tea? And getting the hell out of this rain?”

Annie laughed. And finally began to relax.

* * *

She had started keeping secrets in 1956, when she was seven years old and pretended that she was a princess who lived in a castle on the Mediterranean Sea instead of a nobody who lived in a triple-decker in the heart of the Neponset area of Dorchester. It wasn’t Boston’s finest neighborhood, but with three bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room, the apartment was big enough for her parents and her and her brother, Donald, who was five years older than she was. At least she had her own room; some of her friends did not.

Then, right before Grace Kelly married Prince Rainier and was destined to live happily ever after, Donald was horsing around with some of his friends on their way home from school, and he tripped over a rail and fell into the path of a streetcar. He had just finished presenting his sixth grade science fair project that he’d titled “Building America’s First Subway,” because Boston held the honor of having developed it and gotten it up and running in a heralded engineering feat. Donna’s father said it was ironic that Donald’s life had been snuffed out by public transportation after he had studied it. It was nice, though, that the judges awarded Donald first prize, “posthumously,” her mother said and wept. Donna had to look the word up in their big dictionary.