A second rueful smile from Win.

But maybe this exchange was only in my head.

No one was speaking and so I turned to Natty. “And you! You should be in school.” “I had to tell them what a good sister you are.”

I turned to Win. “You called her?” “Annie, I am allowed to call who I like.” “Still—you should both be in school.” “We’re going back tonight,” Win said.

I walked them over to the train station, which was a manageable distance for me. “Hey Win,” I said when Natty was buying gum. “Might I do a favor for you sometime?”

“Like what?”

“I mean, you’ve helped me a million times over. It seems one-sided. I’d like to do a good turn for you.”

“Listen, Annie, I’ve been lucky in my life. As unlucky as you’ve been, I’ve been lucky. Life works out for me.”

“Probably I’m the unluckiest thing that ever happened to you.”

“Probably so.” He took off his hat. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “I’ll see you when I see you, okay?”

“Win,” I said, “there are other girls, you know. Ones with fewer issues than me.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only girl in the world, Annie, and I think you already know that.”

anyaschka66: Hey Win, people don’t end up with the boys they meet in high school.

win-win: Yes, I got home safely. Thanks for asking. The train wasn’t too crowded.

win-win: Some people do, Annie. Otherwise it wouldn’t be such an enduring cliché.

anyaschka66: I’m not a happy-ending person.

win-win: Sure you are. win-win:

anyaschka66: What’s that?

win-win: Didn’t your nana teach you about emoticons?

anyaschka66: It’s creepy. I feel like it’s looking at me.

win-win:

anyaschka66: Ugh, what’s it doing now?

win-win: It’s winking.

anyaschka66: Gross. I wish it wouldn’t.

win-win:

anyaschka66: When someone looks at me the wrong way, I start reaching for my machete. I’m very damaged, Win.

win-win: I know, but you’re sturdy, too.

anyaschka66: Good night, Win. See you at Thanksgiving. win-win:

BECAUSE LIFE IS CURIOUS, long if you’re lucky, and filled with twists, I found myself at City Hall on a bitterly cold afternoon in January, having a lunch meeting with the newly inaugurated mayor of New York City. When I arrived, I had been told by his assistant that my former enemy had no more than a half hour for lunch. “The mayor is a very busy man,” she said, as if I did not know that already.

At lunch, the mayor and I spoke of my business for a while, and of his plans to introduce legislation to amend the Rimbaud laws. We spoke of his son briefly, though I would not have minded a more detailed report as far as that was concerned. About five minutes before lunch was over, my old colleague looked at me with a very solemn expression.

“Anya,” Mr.—now mayor, though always Mr. Delacroix to me—Delacroix said, “I did not summon you to lunch purely for chatter. I have a request.”

I braced myself. I had known some unpleasant requests from this man in my life. What might he demand from me now that he was so much more powerful than he had been?

He looked at me steadily; I did not blink. “I am getting married, and I would like you to be my best woman.”

“Congratulations!” I reached across the table to shake his hand. “But who is she?” Mr. Delacroix had always been secretive about his personal life, and I had not even known he was dating anyone.

“She is Ms. Rothschild. The former Mrs. Delacroix.” “You are remarrying Win’s mother?”

“I am. What do you think?”

“I think … Frankly, I can think of nothing more shocking! What has caused this turnabout?”

“Last summer, during my failed attempt at matchmaking for you and Win, I succeeded in matchmaking for Jane and me. Had I not sent you to that farm, which necessitated my going there myself, I doubt very much that I would be telling you this tale. Jane finds me to be less fearsome and selfish than I once was. She thinks it might have been your influence, which I have informed her is absurd. And for my part, I love her. I never stopped loving her. I have loved that woman my whole life, since I was fifteen years old.”

“And even though she knows what you are like, she still wants to marry you again?”

“I am not sure if I should be insulted by that question. But yes, she does. As strange as that may seem. She forgives me and she loves me. Despite the fact that I am awful. Perhaps she thinks that life is better with company. Anya, you are crying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He reached across the table and wiped my eyes with the sleeve of his dress shirt.

“I’m so happy for you,” I said.And how could one not be happy when presented with evidence that love could bloom from ground once considered barren? I threw my arms around Mr. Delacroix and kissed him on both his cheeks. He smiled boyishly, and it reminded me of Win.

“What does Win say?” I asked.

“He rolled his eyes quite a lot. He said that we—and particularly his mother—were crazy. He will, of course, walk Jane down the aisle. The wedding is in March. It will only be a little affair, but you still have not said if you will stand up for me.”

“Of course I will. I am honored to be asked. Am I truly the best friend you have?”

“Yes, just about. It’s been a lonely life. And Jane and I are grateful to you. In a strange way, she thinks you belong to us, though I told her that Anya Balanchine belongs to no one except herself. In any case, we could think of no other we wanted standing beside us more, except our own daughter, had she lived.” He held me to him, and I tried not to cry again. (Aside: How much of this book—nay, my life—have I spent “trying not to cry”? When I think of the wasted effort!)