“Aghhh, New York is a horrid city.”
“True,” Deschin said philosophically, “but once you give life to something, Sergei — Well, you know how it is—” He splayed his hands, letting the sentence trail off.
In the weeks since she’d returned from Moscow, Melanie Winslow had gone back to the dance company and thrown herself into choreographing routines with renewed vigor. Indeed, the parcel Deschin had given her contained the old photo album, and the snapshots of her grandmother dancing were the source of Melanie’s inspiration.
It was a warm Saturday afternoon as she got out of a taxi in front of her building. Gramercy Park was alive with children and nannies pushing carriages. A few joggers were running laps outside the fence.
Melanie had spent the morning at the theater and the afternoon at Bloomingdale’s. She entered her lobby carrying a shopping bag, and paused to check for mail. There were a few pieces in her box. She shuffled through them and came upon a folded note.
Her heart pounded at the handwritten message.
She dashed from the building, crossing the street toward the gate at the north end of the Park. Her eyes searched for him in the spaces between the cast iron pickets as she ran. Her hand was shaking, and she could hardly get the key into the lock. She swung the gate open and, not taking the time to close it, dashed down the gravel path. He was talking to a scruffy six-year-old when she saw him. She froze in her tracks. Then she let out a joyful cry, and started running toward him.
Andrew heard the shout, and turned just as she ran into his arms. They clung to each other with crushing force. Finally, Melanie leaned back, staring at his face, as if making sure she hadn’t accosted a stranger.
“It was my father,” Andrew replied to the question in her eyes. “He’s the one who hijacked that plane.” Andrew took a deep breath, reflecting on the day he’d returned to Houston and discovered his father wasn’t at Chappell Hill, as he’d expected. When McKendrick told him about Churcher leaving the train, Andrew pieced it together.
“I’m real sorry, Drew,” McKendrick had said.
“Me, too,” Andrew replied sadly. “But it’s fitting, in its way. He would have been devastated by the disgrace—” He let the sentence trail off, and lifted a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.
“He paid his debt, son,” McKendrick said spiritedly, and, forcing past it, added, “now, as he’d say, let’s get to business. Churchco’s got eleven companies, seventy-two thousand employees, and no boss. You think you’re up to it?”
Andrew thought for a moment and nodded. “Yes, I am,” he said with a quiet determination that confirmed it. “But there’s someone I have to see first.”
“Ahhh,” McKendrick said knowingly. “You slipped into one of those flesh-crazed madonnas after all.”
Andrew smiled shyly, and shook no.
“A special one?”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Andrew replied.
Melanie stood in the park, hugging the breath out of him now. “I still can’t believe it,” she said, tears running down her cheeks.
“Neither can I,” Andrew replied. “I mean, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my father. He really outsmarted them,” Andrew went on with a reflective smile. “He knew the Russians were certain they’d killed him, and would assume I had hijacked that plane.”
“How’d you get out of the country?”
“I drove to Helsinki. Once they thought I was dead, they stopped looking for me. Funny,” he went on reflectively, “the last thing my father said to me was, ‘Good luck, son. I’m with you.’ I didn’t know what he meant at the time, but now I—” Andrew paused and shrugged, his eyes filling at the recollection. “You know,” he resumed, trying to maintain his composure, “he wasn’t the type who could let his emotions show. I mean, I don’t think he ever said — ever said that he loved me. But—” Andrew bit a lip and gently leaned his forehead against hers as the feelings welled up from deep inside.
Melanie kissed his cheek and embraced him comfortingly.
They stood in silence for a long moment, the sun dropping behind the buildings, sending long shadows across the grass.
“But he did,” Andrew finally whispered.
“So do I,” she said softly.