Bono

Most of the time, life spins past in such a blur the bulk of the day is forgotten by bedtime. This particular moment was different. As I looked down at the face, time slowed until it froze like an alpine lake.

Though I didn’t recognize the ski cap, the strong jawline, the broad forehead, and steady blue eyes were instantly familiar. Philip was smiling up at me in that self-contained way of his. I galloped down the stairs and threw my arms around him.

“What are you doing here?” I said, barely able to contain my happiness. “I thought you were on retreat.”

He pulled me close and kissed me on the lips. It was unspeakably good to feel the warmth of his body

“I decided they could manage without me for a while,” he said.

It was unheard of. He never took time off from work. When I asked how he’d got into the building, he said he’d bumped into a nice woman from the first floor at the front door and she’d let him in.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he added, refusing my offer to help him with the suitcase.

“You’ve certainly done that,” I said, trailing after him up the flight of steps to Patrick’s door. I was hoping Patrick would have had the tact and good manners to go back inside. But he was still standing in his doorway.

“You didn’t say your son was paying a visit,” Patrick said, narrowing his gaze through a shroud of smoke.

I corrected him. Philip extended his hand, enveloped Patrick’s paw, and gave it a sturdy shake.

“So, you’re the husband,” Patrick said, after an appraisal. “Come to rescue Miss Golightly, have you? Good luck with that one.”

If there’d been one of Patrick’s whiskey bottles on hand, I’d have cheerfully clocked him with it.

Chapter Thirty-four

BUILDING BRIDGES

To adopt a cat is to invite magic into your life.

Bono greeted his second visitor of the day with interest. He sniffed Philip’s suitcase and watched him unpack. I was pleased when the cat granted Philip a brief chin scratch. He remarked how small Bono was compared to Jonah, who’d gone to stay in Lydia’s flat while he was away.

“But Bono has great personality,” I said, as we watched his tail slide under the bed.

“I can see that,” he said.

“He’ll be friendlier when he gets to know you,” I said, flinging arms around him again to make sure this wasn’t a dream. “What made you come all this way?” I asked.

“Separation anxiety. My hair’s falling out.”

I laughed and stroked his head, which he’d taken to shaving in recent years.

“How is Jonah’s leg?”

“The same. He misses you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” I said.

“What have you missed?” he asked, kissing my nose.

“Tea and toast and bed.”

“Is that all?” he asked, pressing closer against me.

“Maybe a few other things,” I said, kissing his lips.

In fact, I’d missed everything about him—his steadiness, his kindness, his smell. Twenty-two years of shared history couldn’t be erased in a single month.

Much as I’d like to report we spent the whole night entwined in each other’s arms, the bed was too narrow for two adults to lie comfortably beside each other for an extended period. I’d forgotten his tendency to twitch and snore, while I try to sleep in the pose of da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. Around midnight, I pulled out Lydia’s sheets and we flipped the sofa back into a bed.

Maybe it was the brandy, or the sheer delight of being together again, but I slept more soundly than I had for weeks. I woke next morning to find Bono watching over Philip from the sofa’s back, the way he had with Lydia.

“How come you’re still wearing your ski cap?” I asked.

“This place is freezing,” he said.

He needed time to acclimatize.

Eager to share everything I’d learned to love about the city, I steered him through the traffic across Second Avenue for breakfast at the deli. He didn’t seem to find the company of tired cops and manual workers as magical as I did.

“Do you think maybe next time we could go somewhere we don’t have to weigh our food before we pay for it?” he said, folding his paper napkin and draping it over his half empty plate as if something had died under there.

“Sure,” I said devouring the last of my porridge, scrunching my paper napkin into a ball and dropping it into my empty bowl.

I wanted the day to be perfect for him. Though he tolerates museums, he’s an outdoor man at heart.

“What say we walk the Brooklyn Bridge?” I asked.

“Sounds great,” he said. “There and back should be a good leg stretch.”

“Actually, it’s just over a mile long. And there’ll be all sorts of extra footwork getting on and off the thing,” I said. “How about we do a one-way walk?”

As the cab drove across to the Brooklyn side, I glanced up at the gothic arches raising their great steel ropes. Compared to today’s skyscrapers, the bridge may seem modest. When it was finished in 1883, however, the towers dwarfed every other construction in America, and it was the longest suspension bridge in the world.