The first-class flight attendants, who had doted on her and Lulu, ushered them out before permitting the other passengers to get up and handed Nola's carry-on luggage to Wade's new security men. Wade lurched forward, his eyes shining with delight, and tried to take Nola in his arms.

“Back off,” she growled. “Baby killer.”

A look of incredulity crossed his face. Nola marched past him, Lulu straddled on her left hip. In the narrow confines of the platform, her body brushed his. His hand clasped her free arm.

“Don’t touch me,” she sneered.

“The media’s waiting for you.” He reached a hand to pat down her flyaway hair. “You need to fix your makeup.”

She swatted his hand away when Leslie materialized between them. He raised his hands heavenward, mumbling, “Kua-Lo-ma-lua-waia-ko-numa-ti,” and there were tears of happiness in his eyes. His new mustache had grown into a reddish bristle. A surge of love went through Nola as her free arm gave him a hug. A moment later, he eased Lulu out of her grasp. “My baby. My baby,” he cooed. “My wonderful baby.”

Lulu grabbed his nose. Her face was sweetly puffed from long sleep, her straight hair, staticky from the dry air in the plane, stuck out like a daffodil’s.

Nola was startled to hear Wade's whisper in her ear. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay. I understand.” She snapped her head around to see his expression veer into a sympathetic, forgiving smile.

She kicked his shin.

“Ouch!” he cried out, and bent to grab his leg. “You’re nuts!”

“I told you to keep away.” She took Lulu out of Leslie's arms and strode ahead fifty feet to the first battery of reporters. “We’re home,” she whispered to Lulu and lifted her for the cameras. “Say hello to our friends. Hel—lo.”

Lulu regarded them with eyes full of awe. “Lo.” She smiled. “Lo.”

Nola wished she could enter their apartment alone, take Lulu through the rooms, and introduce her to the pictures, sculptures, trophies and the panoramic view from her Central Park West penthouse before evening set in. Then she’d shower to rid her skin of the stale-coffee and wet-muffin odor of the airplane. And she’d have that talk with Wade and get it over with. Close another door.

Then she’d open a new one. On her second call to Daniel, she had asked him not to meet her in New York until she cleaned house. Anticipation rose in her whenever she thought of their upcoming rendezvous at the Cloudy River, the two of them alone at the Potomac.

But after the flashbulbs and the microphones at the airport, and the crowds that had filled the terminal and the road outside, carrying well-wishing placards, Nola stood in shock and delight at the sight of a party going on in her home.