them onto his cart, then trundled off to the service elevators.

Gran gave Art a long and teary hug. She was less frail than she'd been in his
memory, taller and sturdier. The smell of her powder and the familiar acoustics
of Union Station's cavernous platform whirled him back to his childhood in
Toronto, to the homey time before he'd gotten on the circadian merry-go-round.

"Gran, this is Linda," he said.

"Oh, it's so *nice* to meet you," Gran said, taking Linda's hands in hers. "Call
me Julie."

Linda smiled a great, pretty, toothy smile. "Julie, Art's told me all about you.
I just *know* we'll be great friends."

"I'm sure we will. Are you hungry? Did they feed you on the train? You must be
exhausted after such a long trip. Which would you rather do first, eat or rest?"

"Well, *I'm* up for seeing the town," Linda said. "Your grandson's been yawning
his head off since Buffalo, though." She put her arm around his waist and
squeezed his tummy.

"What a fantastic couple you make," Gran said. "You didn't tell me she was so
*pretty*, Arthur!"

"Here it comes," Art said. "She's going to ask about great-grandchildren."

"Don't be silly," Gran said, cuffing him gently upside the head. "You're always
exaggerating."

"Well *I* think it's a splendid idea," Linda said. "Shall we have two? Three?
Four?"

"Make it ten," Art said, kissing her cheek.

"Oh, I couldn't have ten," Linda said. "But five is a nice compromise. Five it
will be. We'll name the first one Julie if it's a girl, or Julius if it's a
boy."

"Oh, we *are* going to get along," Gran said, and led them up to the curb, where
the red cap had loaded their bags into a cab.

They ate dinner at Lindy's on Yonge Street, right in the middle of the sleaze
strip. The steakhouse had been there for the better part of a century, and its
cracked red-vinyl booths and thick rib eyes smothered in horseradish and HP
Sauce were just as Art had remembered. Riding up Yonge Street, the city lights
had seemed charming and understated; even the porn marquees felt restrained
after a week in New York. Art ate a steak as big as his head and fell into a
postprandial torpor whence he emerged only briefly to essay a satisfied belch.
Meanwhile, Gran and Linda nattered away like old friends, making plans for the
week: the zoo, the island, a day trip to Niagara Falls, a ride up the CN Tower,
all the touristy stuff that Art had last done in elementary school.

By the time Art lay dow