If not wondering, Gramps was at least waiting. The vintage Mitsubishi Gallant, the Rocquette family’s fancy transportation for the past fifteen years, was pulled over at the end of the passenger pickup area. A bit older, a bit more battered and shopworn, but still running; just like its owner. He sat behind the wheel, his white hair quite a bit thinner than Tom remembered. His grandfather must have been watching in the rear view mirror, because he got out of the car and waved as soon as Tom and Genifer hit the sidewalk. As they approached, he drew himself up into a salute. Even without the salute, the casual clothes would have failed to disguise the General’s military bearing. Tom halted and snapped back a salute of his own.