Chapter 6.

6.

At seven o’clock, Lucia started carrying out many small plates of food, serving the meal family style. There were so many courses I couldn’t keep track of them all. Maggie and Aidan were experimenting with a vegan diet so there was no actual meat on the table, just mushrooms, eggplants, beets, roasted squash, carrots, and more, all prepared in ways I’d never tasted before. You wouldn’t think that a big plate of vegetables could fill a person up, but after the sixth or seventh course I was maxed out.

“Lucia, you’re a magician,” I told her. “If you cooked for me every night, I’d turn vegan in a heartbeat.”

“Thank you, Frank,” she said, blushing again. “Make sure you save room for dessert.”

Throughout the meal, my daughter did most of the talking. She showed me her engagement ring, an enormous pear-cut diamond on an ornate gold band, and explained it was a family heirloom that had belonged to Aidan’s grandmother. And she spoke with tremendous excitement about their wedding reception. It would be “rustic” and “country style” with lots of wildflowers and outdoor activities. From time to time I’d glance at Aidan to gauge his feelings, but he seemed happy to let his fiancée do all the talking. Clearly Maggie was calling the shots and he was simply along for the ride. I suppose a lot of young men feel the same way about their weddings, but I wanted to draw him into the conversation.

“How about a honeymoon?” I asked. “Are you taking a trip anywhere?”

“Undecided,” he said. “Do you have any suggestions?”

I told him that Colleen and I were always big fans of Carnival Cruises. As newlyweds we took a six-night excursion to the Bahamas and the whole crew treated us like VIPs. I tried to describe all the incredible amenities—the waterslides, the couples massages, the Broadway-quality theater productions—but I must have prattled on too long because I realized Maggie had stopped listening. She was looking at a message on her Apple Watch. The stupid thing had been pinging and dinging all through dinner.

“I’m sorry,” she said, abruptly standing up. “I need to call someone. There’s a thing at work.”

“It’s eight-thirty,” I said. “Who’s still working at eight-thirty?”

“‘Capaciti never stops moving,’” Aidan said, and I realized he was quoting the company tagline from the Super Bowl commercial. “Go ahead, Margaret. Don’t worry about us. Your dad and I will hang out.”

“Five minutes,” she promised, and then she gave him a quick kiss on the forehead before darting into the apartment. Aidan finished the last of his Manhattan and then signaled to Lucia for another. His fourth, if I was counting correctly.

“Is she like this all the time?” I asked.

“Only seven days a week,” he said with a good-natured shrug, like he’d already made his peace with her work habits.

And then the conversation sputtered out. I tried a couple of polite prompts just to get Aidan talking. I asked about his family and his teaching at MassArt, but his answers were short and perfunctory; he seemed happy to sit in silence and sip his cocktail. I remember feeling disappointed that he didn’t ask me any questions; I’d hoped he might want to get to know me a little bit, or at least ask about Maggie’s childhood.

Instead we just looked at the skyline in silence until Maggie returned to the balcony with a fresh glass of wine. “Last interruption, I promise.” Aidan asked if everything was okay and she just sank into her chair. “Everything will be fine.”

“Maybe you should tell your father the good news.”

There was a quick flash of panic in her eyes—and then she shook her head very deliberately. “It’s too early.”

“But he’s your dad—”

“I know, but we already agreed not to say anything.”

And by this point I had a pretty good idea of what Maggie’s good news might be. Anytime a man and woman hurry to the altar after six months of dating, there’s usually just one reason. I crossed my finger over my heart and promised I wouldn’t tell a soul, and then I leaned forward so Maggie could whisper her news. “What’s the secret?”

She took a deep breath. “Well, Capaciti’s starting a new division for the aerospace sector? And I’m going to be on the team.”

“Not just on the team,” Aidan said. “It’s a huge promotion. She’ll have her own staff and everything.”

I must have looked bewildered because Maggie started explaining what it all meant. She said that the biggest obstacle to all-electric air travel was the enormous mass of traditional lithium batteries. The true miracle of the Miracle Battery was not its incredible capacity but its extremely low weight. The plan was to start with smaller planes for cargo flights before expanding to larger passenger airlines. “And you’re going to love this next part,” she said. “We’re already in discussions with UPS. Last month we met with Armando Castado, and he’s totally on board.”

Holy mother of God. In a night full of surprises, this was the biggest bombshell of all. Armando Castado started working at UPS in 1990 as a preloader and package car driver before rising through the ranks to become chief executive officer. I’d never known anyone who’d actually met him in person. “Are you saying you spoke with Armando Castado? You were in the same room together?”

“Yes, and I told him you were a driver in the Circle of Honor. He was really impressed by that. He said he would remember your name.” She snapped her fingers. “You know what, we took a picture!” She reached for her phone and poked at the screen until she summoned the image and then showed it to me. And yes, there was my daughter with Armando Castado and a dozen grinning executives.

“I can’t believe this, Maggie.” Suddenly all the alcohol was hitting me and I got kind of overwhelmed. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say you’re happy for me,” she said. “Because I am very, very happy, Dad. And I am so glad you’re coming to our wedding.”

She walked around to my side of the table and gave me a hug, and I couldn’t help it, I might have leaked out a couple more tears. Aidan politely looked the other way while I dabbed my eyes, and then Lucia brought out coffee, and of course it was the best coffee I’d ever tasted.

And the night would have ended on a high note if I hadn’t stopped to use the restroom on my way out the door. Lucia was in the powder room, so Maggie led me down a short hallway to the master bath, which could be accessed from either the hallway or the adjoining bedroom. “I’ll box you up some leftovers,” she offered. “Meet me back in the kitchen.”

The bathroom was ridiculously large, like something you’d see in a Real Housewives McMansion, with two sinks, an enormous shower stall, and a bathtub big enough for LeBron James. I used the toilet and then went over to the sinks to wash my hands. There were all kinds of beauty and cosmetic products spread across the counter. Aztec healing clay. Charcoal-flavored toothpaste. Bamboo fiber dental floss. I spent a minute or two browsing through everything, trying to decipher why someone might pay extra for Acqua di Parma Italian shave gel over good old-fashioned Barbasol. But I decided that much of Maggie’s new life was going to feel strange and unfamiliar to me—like her state-of-the-art electric toothbrush, charging on the edge of the sink via USB cable.

I’d finished snooping around and was ready to leave when I noticed the toilet was still running. I waited another minute for the water to turn off, and I suppose I’d fixed enough toilets in my lifetime to know something was wrong. Either the flapper was rotted out and needed to be replaced, or maybe (hopefully) the float ball just needed to be lowered, because that was an easy fix. I pulled off the porcelain lid, set it aside, and realized the problem was actually the refill tube—that tiny rubber hose that feeds into the overflow valve. Something had knocked it loose, so I just clipped it back into place and saved the kids a hundred-dollar house call from a plumber.

Then I went to replace the lid, and that’s when I noticed a black plastic bag attached to its bottom, held fast by many strips of duct tape. It was the same type of plastic bag you’d find in a kitchen trash can, trimmed and cut into a kind of small pouch. I poked it with my finger and felt something hard inside, with the same size and dimensions of my checkbook.

Then came a knock at the door, loud and insistent.

“Dad?” Maggie asked. “Is everything all right?”