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“She’s taken matters into her own hands,” Allie replied.
“She’s—was this some sort of guerrilla maneuver? How’s she even—”
Allie squeezed his arm. “I’m sure she’ll tell you later. I suggest, for now, you just enjoy it.”
“Good morning, New York City!” Bea said. “I’m Beatrice Chamberlain. I’m a documentary film student at NYU, and I’m delighted to inform you that I have just now been granted the exclusive opportunity to interview Nancy Van Der Beek. You all know who Justice is, but none of you know Nancy, and you absolutely should. Because for thirty years Nancy Van Der Beek has been the mastermind behind Justice.” The came
ra panned back, fitting Beatrice and Nancy both into the frame. “They say behind every great man is an even greater woman. What do you think, Nancy? Is that you?”
Nancy laughed—a perfect midwestern mom laugh that combined a scraping of humility with utter control. “Well, I guess that sounds about right, Beatrice.”
She sounded like the president. Like the queen of the world. Allie couldn’t stand it.
“So tell me, how have you contributed to the project of Justice’s career over the years? I understand the persona and secrecy were your ideas?”
Allie watched the crowd watch Bea interview her mother in front of everyone. She listened to her mother’s answer, and memories came rushing back. When she was in third or fourth grade, her mother messing with black cloth for hours at the kitchen table—that was the year she was describing to Bea, when she’d spent every spare thought she had trying to source the right textiles and plan the draping of the Statue of Liberty in black. Or the time when Allie wanted to buy a historical department store building in Manitowoc and Andy McMullen on the City Council had blocked her, telling her that he was the only one who could approve the sale. How her mom, angry, sat her down and told her, Don’t suck up to that man. If he gets you where he wants you, he will never let you do anything in this town without going through him. Andy McMullen doesn’t have any power over you, Allie, and you can’t let him take it.
She’d thought at the time that her mom didn’t think much of her. That her mom thought she was fucking up. But now she understood that her mother was simply trying to keep her from making the same mistakes she’d made. To give her the power she believed she deserved.
When the interview ended, with Bea promising more extensive footage and information on her YouTube channel, Neville and Cath came running over.
“Did you see Bea?” Nev was panting, grinning.
“Yes,” Winston said, and in that yes was so much fatherly pride it made Allie want to blush herself. She settled for kissing him on the cheek while he beamed.
“Where’s Dad?” May grabbed Allie’s elbow to hold onto her while the people pushed them forward, and then she saw him, tall and striding through the people like he’d lived in New York forever, making his way toward the terrace.
Allie pointed.
Allie and May grabbed each other’s hands.
Bill Fredericks, Packers fan, nuclear plant engineer, fried bratwurst afficionado, stepped over the rope barrier with the grace of a 1930s movie star, grabbed their mom around the waist and pulled her into a kiss.
“Holy beans,” said May.
“Seriously.” Allie considered the chances she’d have a heart attack at her tender age. She’d eaten plenty of fried bratwurst herself.
“Well.” Winston put his arm around her, and she succumbed to the heart attack and rested her head on his shoulder.
May and Ben were holding hands, and her sister was crying and smiling. Ben’s expression seemed suspiciously pleasant.
Somewhere nearby she could hear Chasity’s family cheering, and Jean had his niece up on his shoulders and was animatedly talking to his mom. He had asked her yesterday about spending some of his investments on a little lake place in Wisconsin, to surprise his mom and niece with, and she had surprised him by letting him know she owned two places already, and that his investment would go a lot farther on real estate in Wisconsin.
Allie wondered how Elvira felt about tall, handsome men from New York.
This feeling.
This feeling was why her mother planned Packers parties in their basement and made dip and invited the neighbors.
This feeling was why her mom flew to New York and made big, beautiful things.
This.
Allie turned to Winston. The tulle skirt of her red ballerina dress bumped his hip, and a rose thorn poked her palm. He looked so handsome, and felt so much like hers, it was all she could do not to suggest they get on a plane to Nevada right now and get this thing done.
She might put that on her list. For someday.
“You want to walk across?” he asked.
