She stopped at the market on the way home to pick up things a hungry child might enjoy—milk, apple juice, vanilla ice cream, chocolate-chip cookies, Cheerios, frosted cornflakes, Grape-Nuts and pretzels. She added a carton of soy milk, just in case Kate turned out to be lactose intolerant. Later that evening, she went to collect the Mickey Mouse–shaped cake she’d ordered from her neighborhood bakery, panting as she bustled up Telegraph Hill to her apartment with it. Such a large cake might have been excessive for one little girl, but the next day also happened to be her own thirty-fifth birthday, and such a doubly auspicious occasion called for as much sugar as they pleased.

Myrna LaBoeuf, her counselor from Friends of the Children of Viet Nam, called at dinnertime to run through the next evening’s program at the San Francisco airport. President Ford had just given the mission a name, “Operation Babylift,” and the FCVN social workers who’d been toiling for months were relieved to have their mission legitimized at last, even if the name he chose sounded like a playground contraption.

“We just heard from the embassy in Saigon and they said the kids are all gathered at the airport over there, all hundred and fifty of them.” Myrna sounded chipper.

“Did they say anything about my little one?”

“We didn’t get specific news about any one child. But I’m sure she’s doing just fine. Listen, we’ve just been informed that the president will be at the airport tomorrow to receive the babies and—whether we like him or not—we’re thrilled about this because it means we’re finally getting the respect we deserve. The downside is security will be tight. So make sure you get there early and find us. And don’t forget your papers.”

“Does this mean I’ll have to get all dolled up?” Mary-Sue asked.

“Oh, wear anything but black pajamas!” Myrna chuckled. “Personally, I think simple and elegant is best. There’ll be a ton of photographers.”

“I’d rather not be photographed with our so-called president, if that’s possible.”

“Oh, come on, hon. Tomorrow’s not just gonna change your life, it’s gonna change history! What’s a little smile? You’re doing a good thing. You should be very proud of yourself.”

“Pride has nothing to do with it. I just want my first encounter with my daughter to be private. Not some fucking baby-kissing photo op.”

A pause at the other end of the line.

“Well, listen, Mary-Sue, I have to go now. Plenty of calls to make tonight. We’ll see you at the airport tomorrow, alrighty?”