He watched her faraway grin turn away, and he knew that, in her mind, she was already on the train, facing the direction headed, book in hand.  Still, he watched her make her way down the platform and take determined steps up onto the train car.  A man in khaki shorts, who seemed to have volunteered himself as conductor of the train platform, was waving passengers aboard, including him.  He felt sure that he’d have to approach her from the front of her train car: an approach from behind would only make her feel the past catching up, a clinging on.  He was being waved on board with a great urgency now.  He would’ve, he’d chance it, but, with the train’s wheels churning, and then turning, to get on board from the front of the train, it was too far to go.