Finn lightly kicked her under the table. “Because once again you’re clinging to stability instead of striking out for something better.”
The arrow found its mark. He didn’t intend to be hurtful, but the charge was true. She shifted her attention to the newspaper to avoid the subject, checking the weather forecast printed at the top. Then, noticing the date, her heart froze, and she glanced back up at Finn. How could she have forgotten what day it was?
“Happy birthday,” she said softly, knowing this was always a difficult day for him.
For a split second, Finn grimaced, a ghost of anguish flashing across his features. Yet it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Thanks,” he said, then dug back into his banana split.
Finn never celebrated his birthday. It was on his twelfth birthday that he tried to impress a girl by running into a burning building to rescue a cat. For a long time after his mother died, Finn wept every night. One of the nuns overheard him and coaxed him to turn his energies to good works instead. Finn went after it with both hands, volunteering for chores at school and sticking up for kids who needed help, and yet his guilt never eased.
“Finn, please quit blaming yourself. Your mother wouldn’t want that for you.”
Finn’s mouth twisted with a bitter hint of a smile. “I know you mean well, but her death will always be on my conscience. The only way I can live with myself is to make the world a better place. That’s why I agreed to work with Bertie. Mathilde reminds me of my mother, and I need to be sure she has everything she needs to raise those kids.”
He pushed the bowl of half-eaten ice cream away. “I know I should be over it by now. Right before my surgery, I confessed everything to a priest, and he said all the right things. I was forgiven, but...”
His voice trailed off and Delia completed his sentence. “But you still haven’t forgiven yourself.”
“Bingo.” He stood and grabbed his crutches. “I’ve got to get back to Camp Mills. When do we meet with this Hearst fellow?”
Delia ached to embrace him and soothe the anguish from his expression, but she couldn’t go down that path again. She stood and managed a smile. “We meet with him for dinner at seven o’clock tomorrow. Meet me at the intersection of Broadway and 64th, and we’ll head straight to the restaurant. Wear your debonaire pilot’s gear.”
Finn shook off his strange gloom and sent her a grin. “You think I’m debonaire, do you?”
“I think the leather jacket is debonaire. You I merely tolerate.”
Her joke banished the lingering grief from his face, and his marvelous laughter lasted all the way out the ice cream parlor. Just before leaving, he turned to give her a salute and a wink.
The women at Hilde’s table watched as he hobbled out the door, looking back at Delia in confusion.
Delia sat back down to finish her ice cream and secretly enjoyed their confusion.
15
Would he ever tire of the adoration? Finn ought to be used to it by now, but as he arrived at the restaurant, a photographer wanted him to pose beside the front door, standing alongside William Randolph Hearst, whose newspaper would print Finn’s profile and distribute the story from coast to coast. Mr. Hearst posed as if opening the door to welcome Finn into the famed restaurant. Finn battled the temptation to gape at all the pedestrians who’d gathered at the street corner to watch. The photographer, meanwhile, demanded that the two men stand perfectly still so as to capture the evening shot.
Finn steadied himself as the photographer adjusted the focus on the large format camera. With the squeeze of a mechanical striker, the powder on the flash pan sent a burst of blinding light as his image was captured. Finn relaxed as the smell of the sulfuric powder tinged the air. He sent a wink to Delia, who watched amid the semicircle of onlookers.
“Let’s try one more,” the photographer said, walking his camera and tripod a few feet to the side. “Put your cane in front of your leg so I can get it in this next shot.”
Finn complied. He’d switched to a cane this evening out of vanity.His leg was healing so well that he might not need the cane after a few more weeks, yet it was a part of his wounded pilot persona. He’d taken Bertie’s advice and had reverted to wearing his leather pilot’s jacket, along with a white silk scarf. Mr. Hearst clapped an arm around Finn’s shoulder as though they were old friends.
Do you see me now, Ma?
She would be proud of him. He’d made something of himself after all. Though his task was far from over, Finn was committed to doing all he could so that the kids in Belgium would continue having food sent their way.
Another flash of light, another acrid tinge of sulfur, and then Mr. Hearst gestured for the group to step inside the restaurant. Three reporters, the mayor of New York, and a couple of officers from Camp Mills would be joining them for dinner.
Delia also joined the group following Finn and Mr. Hearst into Murray’s Roman Garden, the city’s splashiest restaurant. Its design was in the opulent style of ancient Rome, featuring ivy-draped columns surrounding a grotto with jetted fountains, marble statues, and frescoed walls. Laughter and music echoed off a barrel-vaulted ceiling two stories high. Living trees strung with fairy lights filled the interior that glittered with crystal and mosaics.
Finn was the guest of honor tonight, and with Delia on one arm and the cane in his other hand, he felt like a million bucks. Band music in the main room made it too noisy for an interview, but Mr. Hearst had reserved a private dining room. Textured wallpaper in hues of burgundy and gold adorned the enclosed room. A round dining table dominated most of the space, and a mahogany sideboard held an array of crystal decanters, wine bottles, and assorted spirits. Most impressive was a tall sculpture with tiers of tropical fruits, pears, and clusters of grapes.
Of course, none of this came free. Finn was expected to tell the reporters details of his crash landing and hiding from the enemy while under the floorboards of Mathilde Verhaegen’s home. He would give them what they wanted, although his main objectivewas to highlight the importance of the lifesaving food and supplies provided by the Commission for the Relief of Belgium.
The first dish of stuffed olives and brandy-soaked figs arrived, and Thomas Brodsky was ready with a question. Brodsky was a reporter for Hearst’s flagship newspaper, theNew York American. But Delia had already warned Finn that anything he said publicly tonight would be shared across the countless newspapers owned by Hearst.
“Tell us about the circumstances of your crash,” Brodsky asked, a notepad propped in his hand.
Reliving the crash wasn’t fun, but he could do it, plus there wasn’t any information he’d share that could endanger Mathilde or the CRB.
