“Well . . . if you want to know the truth, she found out about you, and she said she didn’t want to marry a man who already had a family.”

George was fascinated. His father rarely opened up about those days.

Greg looked thoughtful. “Nelly was probably right,” he said. “You and your mother were my family. But I couldn’t marry your mom—couldn’t have a career in politics and a black wife. So I chose the career. I can’t say it’s made me happy.”

“You’ve never talked to me about this.”

“I know. It’s taken the threat of World War Three to make me tell you the truth. How do you think things are going, anyway?”

“Wait a minute. Was it ever really in the cards that you might marry Mom?”

“When I was fifteen I wanted to, more than anything else in the world. But my father made damn sure it didn’t happen. I had another chance, a decade later, but at that point I was old enough to see what a crazy idea it was. Listen, mixed-race couples have a hard enough time of it now, in the sixties. Imagine what it would have been like in the forties. All three of us would probably have been miserable.” He looked sad. “Besides, I didn’t have the guts—and that’s the truth. Now tell me about the crisis.”

With an effort, George turned his mind to the Cuban missiles. “An hour ago I was beginning to believe we might get through this—but now the president has ordered the navy to intercept a Soviet ship tomorrow morning.” He told Greg about the Marucla.

Greg said: “If she’s genuine, there should be no problem.”

“Correct. Our people will go aboard and look at the cargo, then give out some candy bars and leave.”

“Candy?”

“Each interception vessel has been allocated two hundred dollars for ‘people-to-people materials’—that means candy, magazines, and cheap cigarette lighters.”

“God bless America. But . . .”

“But if the crew are Soviet military and the cargo is nuclear warheads, the ship probably won’t stop when requested. Then the shooting starts.”

“I better let you get back to saving the world.”

They got up and left the cafeteria. In the hall they shook hands again. Greg said: “The reason I came by . . .”

George waited.

“We may all die this weekend, and before we do there’s something I want you to know.”

“Okay.” George wondered what the hell was coming.

“You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Wow,” George said quietly.

“I haven’t been much of a father, and I wasn’t kind to your mother, and . . . you know all that. But I’m proud of you, George. I don’t deserve any credit, I know, but, my God, I’m proud.” He had tears in his eyes.

George had had no idea Greg felt so strongly. He was stunned. He did not know what to say in response to such unexpected emotions. In the end he just said: “Thank you.”