Chapter 38

CHAPTER 38

FRIDAY, APRIL 16, 1926

L auren didn't know if she could do this. Worse, she didn't know if she should.

The curtain shielded the stage from a packed lecture hall in the Egyptian wing. Tonight was the opening of her special exhibition. Soon, the curtains would part, and she would face more patrons than she'd seen in months. Some had fallen prey to Lawrence. All of them had heard about it. None would want to see the forger's daughter.

"Mr. Lythgoe or Mr. Winlock should be here." Lauren stood offstage, nerves fraying. "We ought to have postponed the opening." But the Met's curator of Egyptian art and the expedition director had been delayed by weather and wouldn't return for another three weeks.

"We've been over this." Mr. Robinson smoothed the necktie behind his vest. "Delaying the opening would throw off the schedule for other events. More importantly, you can do this. You cataloged the art, interpreted it, designed the narrative, arranged loans from other museums, and managed a minutiae of details I'm sure I don't even know about. This is your show, Dr. Westlake. It might as well be your night."

She smiled that he'd remembered her doctorate degree. If Anita was here instead of waiting in the front row, she'd dance a jig. But Lauren remained unconvinced. "I want the art to be the spectacle. Not me. It's not too late to ask Mr. Clarke to give his standby lecture tonight instead. People would love it, and he would love their affirmation."

He lowered his chin. "What happened with your father was not your fault. If it hadn't been for you and Detective Caravello, that forgery ring would still be stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars from people. People have come tonight to see you. Now get ready, Doctor. It's time." The curtains swung wide, and before she knew it, Mr. Robinson stood at the podium, receiving a round of applause.

Lauren could barely hear his introduction over the buzzing in her head. Yet, somehow, when he extended his arm toward her, she joined him on the stage.

Then he was gone, and the spotlight fell on her alone, hot and far too bright. She felt completely exposed. The audience could not possibly hear her name and not hear her father's, too. They couldn't see her without remembering what he'd done.

She gripped the sides of the podium for support. "Thank you for that kind introduction," she began. "It would be my privilege to make a couple of my own. This exhibition would not be possible without the help and expertise of several others." She thanked the representatives present from the lending museums, and they received their own applause.

"Now I'd like you to meet two of our own here at the Met. I could not get along without my assistant, Miss Anita Young." Anita stood and turned to wave while Lauren listed her finer qualities, from clerical prowess to chocolate and coffee distribution.

When clapping subsided, Lauren spoke again. "Mr. Peter Braun." She shielded her eyes from the light until she saw him standing. "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Braun is our lead conservator. If you've enjoyed our galleries even before this night, you've already enjoyed the fruit of his labor. Thank you." He deserved the resounding applause that followed.

She'd talked to him several times since January, so he knew that her gratitude extended far beyond what she'd shared. He had come to her rescue, and she'd never forget it.

On Lauren's signal, the spotlight dimmed and the projector in the back turned on, showing the first lantern slide on the screen behind her. Without the blinding light, she could see the audience while she spoke. There sat Joe and his parents, Ivy, Elsa, and Aunt Beryl and Uncle Julian. She saw Miles and Victoria Vandermeer, Thomas Sanderson, and Theodore Clarke. When she recognized who sat beside him, she almost lost her place in her notes. Dr. James Breasted, her beloved professor, beamed.

"The ancient Egyptians believed the afterlife was more important than the present life on earth," she said, moving into her element. Thank God, thank God, she still enjoyed this field, even though it would always remind her of Lawrence. She'd worked in it without him for so many years, it was truly her own passion. But she knew better than to let it become an obsession.

As she advanced through the slides of exhibition highlights, she explained what the Egyptians believed about the multitude of gods they served and their efforts to appease them. She shared about the weighing of the heart, how they used the Book of the Dead, what they hoped amulets and shabti would accomplish for them in the next world. The presentation ended with the ever-popular topic of how royalty furnished their tombs.

When she finished, the house lights went up, and Lauren invited questions.

The first person stood and asked, "How do you know if a piece of art is fake?"

Lauren blinked. She hadn't spoken a word about forgeries tonight and had no intention of doing so. "Do you have any other questions related to the exhibition?"

Murmurs arose from all corners of the room. They wanted an answer to the question posed.

She glanced at Mr. Robinson, who nodded his assent.

Inhaling deeply, she scrambled to organize her thoughts. "I could tell you about case studies I've done and techniques I've used. But if we were here all night, I couldn't cover everything there is to know about what to look for. My best advice would be to study the real thing. Immerse yourself in the art, learn about it from every angle. Not just what it looks like, but the tools used to make it, where the materials come from, the historical context, the language, the people who created the art, and the purpose for it. If you become an expert on the real thing, you'll know the counterfeit when you see it."

The truth translated. If she had recognized true selfless love, she would have identified Lawrence as fake.

More questions followed, and she answered them easily. Soon, Lauren closed the lecture so patrons could visit the exhibit. Mr. Robinson joined Lauren at the podium and once again thanked everyone for coming. When he finished, the room exploded with applause. A few people stood, and then more, until no one remained in their seats.

"This is for you, Dr. Westlake," Mr. Robinson said.

"It's too much," she protested.

But the museum director backed away from the podium and clapped.

Gratitude swelled.

When at last the curtain closed again, Lauren left the stage to find Dr. Breasted. "Can it really be my favorite professor?"

"My dear Dr. Westlake." When he clasped her hand, the man's eyes sparkled, and his white mustache lifted with a smile. "You were every bit as marvelous as I knew you would be, and then some. Academics like me can be so stuffy, but you've combined the art of storytelling with the science of scholarship. A rare talent. You captivated your audience completely."

His praise humbled her. "I can't tell you what it means that you've come. Thank you." They'd corresponded several times since her father's denouement, and there had been power and healing in his letters. Still, seeing him again brought delight.

An impish grin spread. "The timing is serendipitous. I'm here to see your exhibition, of course, but I've come about something else, too. Something best discussed in person."

Joe had been the last one standing during Lauren's ovation, and he was nearly the last person in the lecture hall now, waiting while she spoke with every patron who waited in line for her. He didn't mind. He had waited years for Lauren Westlake. An extra forty minutes wouldn't hurt him.

Much.

In the meantime, he replayed music from Wagner's Die Walküre in his mind. Last week, Joe and Lauren went with his parents to the opera, redeeming the Christmas gift tickets at last. So much had happened since that holiday, even aside from the fall of the Napoleon Society. Doreen had moved in with her long-lost friend, where she could grow flowers in a garden of her own. She was safe while Connor served a reduced sentence in return for his testimony against Ray and Tony Moretti. The Morettis had been convicted, and though their lawyer appealed the decision, they were locked away, at least for now.

"Good evening, Sergeant."

He turned to find Beryl Reisner standing beside her husband, Julian, who offered a hearty handshake. "Good to see you, Detective."

Joe returned the greeting. "Call me Joe."

Mrs. Reisner nodded, the ostrich feather in her upswept hair quivering. "We received your invitation, and it will be our pleasure to attend."

Joe's eyebrows lifted. "I'm happy to hear that."

"You must understand something, Serg—Joe." Mrs. Reisner gripped her handbag tighter. "When I turned you away from our home when you were a teenager, I thought I acted in Lauren's best interest. The two of you were so young, and I didn't know you."

"You were also mourning your sister's recent death," her husband added, "and reeling with the responsibility of an added child in your care. Not to mention how angry you were that Lawrence had missed Goldie's passing."

"You were protective," Joe said. "I understand."

Mrs. Reisner almost smiled. "But the point is, we know you now. And we're coming."

The corner of Joe's mouth hooked up at this understated sentiment, but he felt no less grateful for it. He thanked them, and they took their leave.

At last, the lecture hall emptied of everyone but Joe and Lauren. She met him halfway up the center aisle, her shimmering eyes brighter than the peacock colors of her beaded dress. She was luminous.

"Congratulations," he said and kissed her. "You were wonderful. Everyone loved it. I'm proud of you."

A quiet laugh tripped over her lips. "For not running away or hiding?"

He looped his hands around her waist. "I know how hard that was for you, but you did it anyway. You faced it, and look what happened. Instead of being humiliated, you were celebrated."

She shook her head in apparent wonder. "That was a surprise. Thank you for coming. You didn't have to wait for me."

"I wanted to."

Lauren returned his smile. "I'm glad, because I have news. Dr. Breasted came tonight, and he told me there's a spot on his epigraphic survey team for this coming fall. He asked me to take it."

"Epigraphic Survey—that's in Egypt, right?"

"Yes, it would be for six months. We'd be recording ancient temple hieroglyphs with Dr. Breasted's system. He asked me to come and do the translation work on-site."

Six months of not seeing her face. Half a year of not hearing her voice, or holding her hand, or kissing her, when they'd lost years together already. But Joe shoved his selfishness away. Lauren wanted this, and he wanted what she wanted. Missing her already, he forced a smile. "I did get you the outfit for Christmas—it would be a shame to let it go to waste."

"I haven't said yes."

"You haven't? Isn't this one of your long-term goals?"

Her shoulder lifted and fell. "Well, yes. But it's not the only one. It's not even the most important one anymore. I once believed field experience would fill not just a spot on my résumé but a hole in my spirit. I'd hoped working in the field would please my father, and I'd finally have his approval. But that hole I felt, that something missing, isn't there anymore. I'm whole and complete as I am. I finally realize that my true Father is already pleased with me. I don't have to prove or achieve anything to earn the love He's freely given."

A hard-earned peace lit her countenance, drawing a smile from Joe. He'd seen, since Lauren was twelve years old, the way Lawrence Westlake had affected her. At last she was free of him, or at least well on her way. Deep wounds took time to heal.

"I bet you never thought you'd hear me say this," she said, "but I don't need to work in Egypt to be happy."

Joe studied her determined expression, from unblinking eyes to the set of her chin, and chose his next words carefully. As much as he'd miss her if she went, he'd feel worse if she gave up the opportunity and regretted it later.

He lifted her hands and kissed them. "I'm glad you can be happy regardless. But that doesn't mean you need to reject an unexpected blessing. Who knows but that this is God's gift to you? When does Dr. Breasted need an answer?"

"Not for a few weeks." She paused, and he could see her mind working. "It wouldn't be a career change or anything. It would be a one-time experience. As long as Mr. Robinson would allow me a leave of absence."

"He wouldn't keep you from this," Joe predicted. "And neither would I."

She laid a hand on his cheek. "If I go—and I'm not saying I will for sure yet—but if I do, I'll come back, Joe. I'm not my father. The joy is in the coming home to people who love me. To the man I love more than anything."

"Someone I know?" Joe grinned, and she stood on her toes to embrace him. He breathed in the apple blossom scent of her hair and kissed the spot behind her ear. Maybe he should put the rest of his plan for this evening on hold, since Dr. Breasted's offer had given them plenty to think about. But he couldn't wait any longer. He'd learned much from his childhood hero, Joseph Petrosino. Courage. Risk. Duty and sacrifice. And not to give up on love just because the future was unpredictable.

"I want to show you something," Joe told her. "That is, if you can spare a few more minutes?"

———

Curious, Lauren watched Joe's expression shift between eager and earnest. "Of course. What is it?"

"Come with me." With a subtle smile, Joe led her out of the lecture hall and in the opposite direction from the exhibition.

"Is it a secret, where you're taking me?"

All he did was smile.

In the corridor dividing the Great Hall from the Egyptian wing, Joe stopped beside a sarcophagus. "This is where we first met," he said. "The place where I first knew it was my job to take care of you."

Lauren warmed to the memory. "I'll never forget it." She paused, looking around. They'd been here together many times since then. "Is this what you wanted to show me?"

His grin deepened. "Only partially. This way."

From there, he led her into the Great Hall, through the entrance area, and to a locked door. Joe positioned himself beside it with his back to the wall, facing the doors.

"The coat-check room?" she asked.

"On the days I arrived at the museum first and didn't find you in the Egyptian rooms, this is the place I stood and waited for you during your Christmas breaks. I figured you'd come here first to check your cloak."

Her eyes misted as she thought of his steadfast patience with her. "Are you taking me on a tour of our Metropolitan affair?"

That smile again, the one that held some secret, but a secret that promised to be good. The one that quickened her pulse and made everything else fade away.

With a hand to the small of her back, Joe guided her into the Great Hall once more. Beneath soaring arches, they walked between marble statues from the ticket counter toward the grand staircase. "This—" he gestured forward and backward with his arm—"this is part of the path I sprinted the day I came back for you, October 16, 1925. I literally chased after you and found you on your way through Central Park. That was the day you agreed to help me with my forgery investigation."

"So that's why you were sweating," she teased, though she'd noticed no such thing. "I just thought you were nervous."

"You have no idea."

At the bottom of the staircase, she paused. "Going up?" She could think of several memories they'd shared on the second floor of the Met.

"We could." Joe stopped. "I could show you places all over the museum and tell you what happened there."

Nodding, she began to climb.

"But none of those matter as much as what happens here."

She turned around and saw that he hadn't followed her.

"This is the place I tell you that even though the future may be uncertain, I am more than certain about who I want to spend the rest of my life with. I don't want to wait any longer to begin our future together." Joe knelt.

Knees softening, Lauren gripped the brass railing and descended the few steps that had separated them.

He took a small box from inside his tuxedo jacket and opened it. "I love you, and have loved you, across the span of miles and years. I'm asking you to be my wife, for however long the Lord grants us. Will you have me?"

Her breath caught, then shuddered. "With all my heart."

Joe stood, and she threw her arms around him. He captured her to himself and lifted her off the stair, his lips claiming hers in a kiss that sealed the promise. A kiss that ensured they would forever remember this spot as the place where she said yes.

"Soon," he whispered, and set her down, fitting the ring on her finger.

"Yes," she agreed, and the diamond winked up at her. They'd waited long enough. She kissed him again, and he returned her warmth with the tenderness of hope fulfilled and with longing for all their tomorrows.

Joe stepped back with a smile and shining eyes. "I've kept you from the exhibition long enough," he said. "Ready?"

Her heart still thrumming, Lauren patted her hair to make sure it was in place. "Ready."

As they neared the lecture hall, Joe paused. "I left my coat in there. I should pick it up before security locks the room for the night."

Lauren joined him as they entered the hall.

Grinning, Joe took a deep breath and burst into some Italian opera.

As soon as he did, the curtains on the stage parted. Instead of a podium, the stage held a long table covered in white linen and topped with vases of red roses and platters of tiramisu.

"What...? Do you know anything about this?" She set a brisk pace down the aisle for a closer look.

"Congratulations!" The sound was not one voice but many. Lauren watched in amazement as people filed onto the stage from the wings. Elsa, Ivy, Greta, and Sal, all jubilant. Even her aunt and uncle were there, expressions more subdued than the rest but still pleased.

"I hope you said yes, Lauren, or this will be really awkward!" Elsa called down.

"Don't worry," Ivy added. "We didn't follow you; we were waiting in the wings until we heard Joe's signal."

Laughing, Lauren turned to Joe. "You planned this. Pretty confident, were you?"

"If you'd said no, I'd need them all for moral support. And there would be more tiramisu for me."

They returned to the stage. The next moments blurred in a series of hugs from everyone who had come. Lauren wasn't the only one whose eyes watered.

Joe smiled. "I figured this might be an occasion you'd want to share with family. Yours, mine. Ours."

Uncle Julian stepped closer. "You have our blessing. You didn't ask for it, and frankly, you don't need it, but you have it just the same."

Aunt Beryl blinked back the moisture lining her lashes. "Your mother would be so happy for you."

"Yes," Lauren agreed. "She would."

Like the Nile flooding its banks, the place inside Lauren that for so long had been empty could not hold the joy and love that overflowed it now. The losses in Lauren's life had not been wasted. They'd been redeemed, and so had she.