AFTER LUNCH, MAYLING CHAN reminded her assistant that she would be leaving the office early to meet her brother, who was coming into San Diego on the four o’clock bus. She felt the need to mention this again at two, and once more at three, like a nervous tic that had suddenly manifested. Mayling hadn’t seen her brother in almost six years, and his imminent return provoked an unfamiliar anxiety in her, like a lottery winner afraid of losing her ticket. In Mayling’s case, she found herself doubting her ability to hold onto that small, crucial piece of information—Nelson. July 15th. Four o’clock. Any distraction and it would slip from her memory, or she’d mix up the time, or she might not recognize her brother when she saw him (although how much, she wondered, could a person change?).

She planned her route so that she’d get to the Greyhound terminal a quarter of an hour early, but as it turned out, the I-5 was congested—a motorcycle accident—and she ended up arriving twenty minutes late and a little flustered. Almost to her disappointment, she spotted her brother straight away: he was sitting on a bench next to the vending machine, scruffy with a duffle bag between his feet and a beat-up looking camera around his neck.

“Nelson?”

“Hey, Mayling!” Her brother jumped up and threw his arms around her in a bony embrace, smelling faintly of wood smoke and industrial soap.

“You must be tired,” said Mayling. “Let’s get you home.”

Nelson stood in place, smiling nervously as if waiting for a punchline. When Mayling clarified, “My place,” Nelson swung the duffle over his shoulder and started walking to the car.

During the drive, Nelson tuned the radio to a Mexican music station at a volume that was too loud for conversation and kept his eyes fixed on the view outside his window, holding his camera up to his face every so often. Mayling wondered about his interest in the landscape, which seemed to her unremarkable—the grey, yawning freeway flanked by parched hills, steel towers, and clusters of hastily made houses. It didn’t occur to her at the time that her lack of regard for it might have stemmed from the same cause as Nelson’s interest: it was where they had both grown up. In any case, Nelson’s preoccupation gave Mayling frequent opportunities to steal glances at him. She found herself looking for signs of change rather than familiarity.