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“Bea.” He lifted his arm. “We’re out here.”
She spotted them and changed direction, making a beeline for the patio. “That’s a relief. I have to tell you, I didn’t think it all the way through. I just found myself nearby, and it’s daytime for you guys, and then Jean says he can’t drive me because he’s taking things to your place from the apartment, and I’m like, ‘Whose things?’ Which is how I find out about all this going on in heah.” She twirled her finger around in a circle between him and Allie, then stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Bea. You’re Allie. I’m delighted to meet you.”
“Same here.” His daughter shook hands with his—his—Winston had no word for what Allie was.
Jean appeared in the front hall with luggage. “Where do you want me to leave this?” he called.
“There’s fine,” Bea said.
Allie waved. “Hey, Jean!”
He beamed. Winston had never seen Jean beam. “Any news yet from your mom?”
“She called, but it’s no good, she won’t meet me. I’ve got to figure out where this art thing is happening. I think it’ll be Saturday, the signs and wonders say probably at the Brooklyn Bridge, but keep your ears peeled, all right?”
“Aaaite. I’ve got your digits, you’ve got mine.”
“Peace!” Bea called as Jean left the bags and closed the door behind him. She plopped down opposite Allie. “So, it’s on Saturday, huh? Where’s that intel come from?”
Winston felt as though he’d walked onto the set of a television program and everyone but he had been given their lines.
“My mom said she has something she has to go to on Saturday. I figure it can only be Justice.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Bea said. “So, listen—”
“You called Jean to drive you?” Winston interrupted.
“Huh?”
“This morning. You called Jean to drive you?”
“Sure. You said if I was ever out and I didn’t have cab fare, if I needed a safe ride, so I call him sometimes.”
“I meant in an emergency. Did you have an emergency?”
“Jean doesn’t mind. He said.”
“Jean isn’t self-employed. He’s paid by the company, officially. If they were to find out he’d been driving you all over the city—”
Bea rolled her eyes. “And yet you gave him to her for a whole day. Listen, when’s Uncle Nev and Cath going to be here?”
“They’ll land in the early afternoon. I’ve made a reservation for dinner—it’s at seven o’clock, and the restaurant is formal, so you’ll—”
“Need to wear evening dress, I know, you told me already, but listen, did you talk to Nev? Because he was thinking they’re getting off the plane and zoom, going to some three-four-hour dinner when they’re still on London time, that’s not so great, and it’d be better to crash here and shove his face in a pizza.”
“He said this?”
“Cath did, yeah. Listen, I’m going to get that coffee.” She jumped up. “You guys can talk amongst yourselves.”
Her hair hung loose down her back, tangled in ropes that reminded him of the years Rosemary had to coax her into letting her brush it out. Bea wore a sort of one-piece jumpsuit, the shorts exposing coltish legs and shiny shinbones, the top completely lacking in sleeves or straps. He couldn’t imagine where she stored her phone in this outfit. He knew she rarely carried money. She’d been out all night with strangers, doing who knew what.
“So that’s Bea,” Allie said.
“That’s Bea.”
“She’s kind of great.”
“She’s utterly terrifying.”
