![]() ![]() Nearly fifteen years had passed since Ruma's only European adventure, a month-long EuroRail holiday she'd taken with two girlfriends after college, with money saved up from her salary as a para- legal. The postcards showed the facades of churches, stone fountains, crowded piazzas, terra-cotta rooftops mellowed by late afternoon sun. Occasionally a postcard would arrive in Seattle, where Ruma and Adam and their son Akash lived. Each time, she kept the printout of his flight information behind a magnet on the door of the refrigerator, and on the days he was scheduled to fly she watched the news, to make sure there hadn't been a plane crash anywhere in the world. When he was away Ruma did not hear from him. ![]() He was gone for two, three, sometimes four weeks at a time. ![]() They were package tours, traveling in the company of strangers, riding by bus through the countryside, each meal and museum and hotel prearranged. In the past year he had visited France, Holland, and most recently Italy. After her mother's death, Ruma's father retired from the pharmaceutical company where he had worked for many decades and began traveling in Europe, a continent he'd never seen. ![]()
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