Findel Airport in Luxembourg is not exactly the beating heart of European air travel. As befits a tiny country, it is a tiny airport, its tarmac scattered with tiny airplanes from nearby European capitals, alongside which my connecting flight from Amsterdam pulled up at around seven o’clock on a Tuesday evening. I hobbled into the tiny arrivals hall, where Marcel was easy enough to spot in the mob of like, eleven people, the other ten of whom huddled together in thawbs and abayas, anxious to greet someone who was not me.
My mother and I had spent much of the drive to LAX trying to determine if I had ever met Marcel. When we were kids, my mom had taken us to Luxembourg every summer, but as my older sisters got into high school, their interest in spending summers away from their friends wan
