Bruno explained that Louis Underfer already had a foundation in place. He wanted Bruno to help him figure out where to give his money.

“So I named my price, and also named yours, insisting that I’d only be willing to work with him if I could hire the brightest, most tenacious, and most ethical person I’ve ever encountered.”

Like my mother, Bruno tended to exaggerate. But he was convincing, because he nearly made me a believer.

He went on, “We can go over the details later, but basically, we’ll be seeking out worthy organizations and award them grants.” He added with a wink, “We’ll be Santa, but without the suit.”

Bruno was the most flirtatious homosexual I’d ever known. At times he seemed to have a crush on me. The sweet kind, though, much like how a boy feels toward his best friend’s little sister. Innocent. Nothing sexual. Other times he exuded a kind of paternal pride, as if I were the daughter he’d always yearned for and never had.

“Think about it.”

I promised I would.

“Oh, I hope you’ll like this—we won’t be starting until the fall. And since we’re giving away Louis Underfer’s blood money, here’s what I imagined for your salary.” He wrote down an amount on the back of a paper napkin and slid it my way.

After my lunch with Bruno, I was too wound up to head straight home. So I walked to the Promenade, still clutching the napkin. My mind was racing. Maybe because I was both giddy and scared, I made up a little poem. I even sang it to myself as I stood in my favorite spot and looked across the East River to Manhattan.

Bruno Schwine is sick
The sky is clear blue
Anna Brody called me
Look at this view

That was what I wished I had told Anna Brody: It’s the view. You can’t be bored here because of the view.

To this day Tim believes he did the convincing. As we walked over the Brooklyn Bridge that first time, he tried to dazzle me with the history of its construction, the story of the man who’d designed it, his son who’d built it, and the son’s wife who’d made sure it was finished. But in truth, it was the view. Not from the bridge—no, it was the view I saw once we’d made it to the other side. Sure, I’d seen it in photographs and often in films and on television. That day, standing on the Promenade, a slight breeze blowing, the whoosh of traffic racing below on the BQE, looking across New York Harbor at majestic Manhattan and where the Twin Towers had once been, I had the distinct feeling this place could be home.