“I’m so proud of what you’ve done,” she said. “We used to joke about changing the world. Now you really have.” She smiled.

“Thanks for giving me the courage to go forward,” Lisa replied. “Good night, Dirk,” she said, waving at Pitt.

“Don’t forget. I’ll see you in the morning with the ocean carbon report.”

After Loren climbed back into the car, Pitt slid the gearshift into first and sped down the street.

“Georgetown or the hangar?” he asked Loren.

She snuggled close to him. “The hangar tonight.”

Pitt smiled as he steered the Auburn toward Reagan National Airport. Though married, they still kept separate residences. Loren maintained a fashionable town house in Georgetown but spent most of her time at Pitt’s eclectic home.

Reaching the grounds of the airport, he drove down a dusty side road toward a dark, vacant section of the field. Passing through an electric gate, he pulled up in front of a dimly lit hangar that looked as if it had been collecting dust for several decades. Pitt pressed the security code on a wireless transmitter and watched as a side door to the hangar slid open. A bank of overhead lights popped on, revealing a glistening interior that resembled a transportation museum. Dozens of brightly polished antique cars were neatly aligned in the center of the building. Along one wall, a majestic Pullman railroad car sat parked on a set of steel tracks embedded in the floor. A rusty bathtub with an ancient outboard motor bolted to the side and a weathered and dilapidated semi-inflatable boat sat incongruously nearby. As Pitt pulled into the hangar, the Auburn’s headlights flashed on a pair of aircraft parked at the back of the building. One was an old Ford Tri-Motor and the other a sleek World War II Messerschmitt ME-162 jet. The planes, like many of the cars in the collection, were relics of past adventures. Even the bathtub and raft told a tale of peril and lost love that Pitt retained as sentimental reminders of life’s frailty.

Pitt parked the Auburn next to a 1921 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost that was undergoing restoration and turned off the motor. As the garage door closed behind them, Loren turned to Pitt and asked, “What would my constituents think if they knew I was living in an abandoned aircraft hangar?”

“They’d probably feel pity for you and increase their campaign donations,” Pitt replied with a laugh.

He took her hand and led her up a spiral staircase to a loft apartment in one corner of the building. Loren had exerted her marriage rights and coerced Pitt to remodel the kitchen and add an extra room to the apartment, which she used as an exercise area and office. But she knew better than to touch the brass portholes, ship paintings, and other nautical artifacts that gave the residence a decidedly masculine tone.