Final judgment

TWENTY-NINE

Kansas City International Airport was on the northern edge of the city limits on a broad, flat plain that confirmed every stereotype about Midwestern topography. It was so far from the center of the city that people arriving for the first time often thought they had boarded the wrong plane or that they had been hijacked en route.

Its saving grace was a design that put the gates practically on the curb, allowing people to meet their friends and family as they got off the plane. It was an anomaly in an age of draconian airport security in which wheelchaired grandmothers were nearly strip-searched and travelers were forced to walk a mile to find a familiar face.

The layout also resulted in tightly knotted clusters of people converging like a mosh pit in front of the door from which passengers emerged. Abby’s flight was full, which meant that the area in front of the gate was clotted with people waiting for its arrival. Young children clung to parents or darted between legs, stepping on toes until they were put in time-out. Old parents clung to middle-aged children, waiting for their grandchildren. Lovers stood on tiptoes, craning their heads, anticipation arching their backs.

Mason leaned against the wall opposite from where the passengers would appear. Surveying the crowd, he realized he didn’t fit in any of these categories; such was the limbo in which his relationship with Abby lingered.

When she stepped through the gate, smiling and waving at him through gaps in the crowd, his heart quickened. She was carrying a coat over one arm and wearing black slacks and a bright red sweater, the contrast perfect with her porcelain skin. His glimpse of her erased months of doubt even though she’d asked for nothing more in her phone message than a ride from the airport and offered less in return. All she had said was that it would be nice if he could be there to meet her. That was enough for him.

Blues had once asked him if he wished that Abby was the only woman he’d ever loved. He wasn’t certain how to answer, not regretting all his past relationships, just the ones of which he wasn’t proud. Finally he answered, telling Blues no, but he hoped she was the last woman he would ever love.

They wedged through the crowd, joining hands as people swirled around them. She looked up at him, her eyes expectant, the corners of her mouth crinkled in a sly grin. She let go of one hand, brushing her dark bangs off her forehead, giving her head a shake and thumping him lightly on the chest.

“It’s okay. You can kiss me.”

He leaned down, their lips brushing, her mouth slightly parted. “You look terrific. I’m glad you called,” he said, still holding her hand.

“And why not? You’re cheaper than a cab,” she teased. “Let’s get my bag.”

He waited until they pulled out of the parking garage to ask if she had more in mind than a free ride.

“How long will you be in town?”

“A week. I’m meeting with people in the senator’s Kansas City office and a number of locals-contributors, politicians, that kind of thing. Plus I’m doing some advance work. Josh is the guest of honor at a civic award dinner next Saturday night.”

Mason noted that she referred to Josh Seeley both as “the senator” and by his first name, blurring their professional and personal relationships. Senator Seeley was married and Abby was no home wrecker. Still, Mason hadn’t been able to shake his own jealousy when he’d seen them together. Real or imagined, their relationship bothered him. He hadn’t made an issue of it, realizing that Abby’s refusal to live with the violence that surrounded his cases posed the biggest threat to their future. He was surprised by her phone call and thrilled by her warm greeting, but he hesitated to read too much into either.

“Sounds like a busy week.”

“All in the service of our constituents,” she added with a laugh. “The Missouri Republican Party is having its annual Lincoln Day fund-raiser tonight at the Westin in honor of Abe’s birthday. The senator will be shaking hands until his fingers fall off. I could use a date.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled at him as if to apologize for the past. “I know this is short notice and it’s okay if you’ve got plans.”

“You’re in luck,” he said, tucking his smile into his cheek in a failed effort to play it cool. “I’m fresh out of plans.”

“Great. It’s black-tie and cocktails are at six. Pick me up at five-thirty. I’m warning you, though. My job means that I show up early and stay late.”

“I can do that. What are you doing the rest of the day? Are you going to write speeches, mend fences with the voters, or clean your apartment?”

Abby turned in her seat, her back against the door. The light in her eyes gave the sun a run for its money. “Whatever you want.”