Madly (New York 2)

It was big to think of herself not as the child who’d come along and almost ruined her family—the daughter who could break everything apart—but as the child who’d helped her parents find each other again, in a way. Her dad had been so matter-of-fact about his way of thinking, that Justin had the raw end of the deal, because Justin didn’t get to have Nancy, and Justin didn’t get to have her, either.

Allie was beginning to feel a little sorry for Justin, too.

“Can I have everybody’s attention?” she called. She waited for everyone to turn their eyes to her, basking a bit when Nev whistled at the spectacle she made in her green-and-purple belted leisure suit with red cork-soled platform sandals.

“Tomorrow morning the artist Justice is going to unveil a new installation to a massive crowd of New Yorkers. The city is buzzing with rumors, which have been leaking out bit by bit all week. Most people agree it’s going to happen around ten or eleven, definitely at or near the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“That’s solid,” Bea called. “My catering guy confirms it.”

“In lots of different ways, most of the people in this room have been trying to help me find my mom this week. We’ve been narrowing in on this event because it seemed like the one place we knew for sure we would find her. I can tell you now, for sure, that my mom will be there tomorrow. But I can also tell you that pretty much everything else I told you was wrong.”

Her eyes met Winston’s. He sat with his legs crossed at the knee, his creases perfectly straight, his dark eyes attentive, his posture erect.

She yearned toward him so hard, she felt like one of those cartoons with its heart beating out of its chest, dragging it across the room.

“The last time I talked to you, I wanted to try to meet with her today, first, with my family, because we wanted to convince her not to leave my dad for Justice.” She glanced at her father, who was making a mild face of disgust at something on his plate. “I’m happy to announce that’s no longer going to be necessary. My mom isn’t with Justice.”

“Then where is she?” Chasity asked.

“No, I mean, she’s with him, but she’s not romantically involved with him. She’s actually working with him. My mom and Justice met in art school back when he was plain old Justin Olejniczak. She’s been masterminding all of his big public reveals ever since.”

Chasity leaned forward in her chair. “Wait, what’s your mom’s name?”

“Nancy.”

“Her full name.”

“Nancy Fredericks.”

Chasity waved her hand. “Not her name now, her name when they were in school together.”

“Van Der Beek,” her dad said brusquely.

Chasity snapped her fingers. “That. That. Why didn’t you tell me that three days ago?”

“I didn’t know you’d—”

“I’ve been pulling permits all over the country, and half of them have ‘N. Van Der Beek’ on them, but nobody knows who the hell N. Van Der Beek is. Never once crossed my mind it’s your ma. That’s fucking amazing.”

“Wait, your mom is Van Der Beek? Van Der Beek’s famous,” Bea said.

“She’s not famous. Nobody’s ever heard of her.”

“Okay, so it’s a very small circle she’s famous in, but she is,” Bea interrupted. “You know I mentioned that documentary film professor who’s making the film about Justice? He’s the one I heard about Van Der Beek from. He thinks Van Der Beek is the key to everything. The name’s on one piece of paper from Maine, when they built that first piece at the jetty. Everyone wants to know who Van Der Beek is.”

Allie had never seen a word about it in her Internet research. “Dad, did you know that?”

He nodded. “Nancy follows the gossip.”

Everybody started talking at once, and Allie shouted to get control of the room. “Hey!”

No effect. She lifted her hand in the air, shouted “Hey!” again, and noticed Winston watching her, his expression so bemused, so pleased with her, that she flushed warm all over.

Allie smiled.

It should have been impossible, but Winston smiled back.

They grinned at each other like idiots until Ben filled the counter with sandwiches, slamming plates down, breaking the spell. Allie lifted her fingers to her mouth and made the piercing whistle she’d once used—and would use again—to get her dogs to come to the door.