The next evening, Cypher opened the door so the girls could exit the taxicab. “Here we are,” he said.

“But where is here?” Bimmy stepped onto the sidewalk. “And why?”

“Be patient.” Audie took Bimmy’s hand and led her through the front door of the Hotel Belleclaire and into the toasty-warm lobby, bustling with an assortment of performers from a very particular circus brought across the Atlantic to celebrate the birthday of one of John D. Rockefeller’s grandchildren. The tyke was mad for the big top, and Mr. Rockefeller was mad to keep his grandchildren happy. The expense of transporting the circus and a goodly portion of its performers for one night’s entertainment was nothing to the richest man in the world.

In the lobby, the air was charged with anticipation, as if something grand was in the works, something more than a birthday party.

Bimmy’s face was a question mark for a full minute as she stood at the edge of the crowded room. Then two figures gracefully stepped through the archway from the elevators.

“Mama!” She flew to the first of the figures. “Papa!”

Audie’s joy for her friend leaked out both eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Dove could not stop hugging and kissing their beloved daughter. Audie was completely satisfied. All the subterfuge had been worthwhile, even though Bimmy and her mother and father would have but one evening together. It was heartwarming to see them all so happy. To see Bimmy so happy. Our Audie was such a gracious soul that she didn’t for a moment begrudge Bimmy what she herself would never have: a family reunion. After a glance at Cypher, Audie removed a second handkerchief from her pocket. “It looks like you could use this,” she said.

“This city is so dirty.” He dabbed at his eyes. “All that ash and soot.”

They watched the tender scene a few moments more.

“Shall we leave them to get reacquainted?” Audie suggested. “I’m famished.” She led the way back to the waiting cab and provided the driver with directions she’d gleaned from a certain steely-eyed purveyor of pickles. The long and bumpy ride was well worth the look on Cypher’s face when he opened the door to an out-of-the-way and uniquely ethnic restaurant and was ambushed by the scents of cardamom and turmeric and ginger.

The owner greeted them warmly in Farsi. Cypher beamed as they were led to a table in a quiet corner.

After their lovely many-coursed meal—Audie was particularly fond of the morgh polou—and on the cab ride to pick up Bimmy, Cypher thanked Audie over and over for finding the Persian restaurant.

“It was lovely, wasn’t it?” she asked. “Though I think I do prefer Beatrice’s baghlava.” She sighed. “I can’t wait to get home to her. Can you?”

Cypher made no answer, and it was too dark for Audie to see him blush.