I tear my eyes away from the Statue of Liberty and scan the length of the railing, first to the left and then to the right. The sidewalk is filled with a sea of tourists, even on this chilly autumn day with the wind whipping in from the water. For a moment, my heart begins to sink. Perhaps it will be impossible to find him in the midst of all these people.
Gavin isn’t saying anything; he seems to realize that I’m lost in my own world. As I begin to panic, though, to think that I might be wrong, I feel his hand fold gently over mine, and I hold tight with a fierceness that surprises me. I don’t want him to let go.
I’m just about to say “Maybe I’m wrong” when I see him. Without releasing Gavin’s hand, I begin moving to the right, down the row of benches, down the gleaming rail. I don’t know how I’m suddenly so confident that it’s him, that it’s Jacob, but I’m sure of it even before I can see his face. There’s a cane propped beside him, and he’s drumming the fingers on his left hand rhythmically against the rail, just like my daughter often absentmindedly does. “That’s him,” I say to Gavin.
The man is facing the Statue of Liberty, staring out at her as if he can’t look away. His hair is snow white, balding on the top, and he’s in a long, dark overcoat that somehow looks regal to me. “The prince,” I murmur, more to myself than to Gavin. When we’re just a few feet away from him, he turns suddenly and looks right at me, and in that instant, any remaining doubt disappears. It’s him.
He freezes, his mouth falling open just a little. I freeze too, and we stare at each other. He looks just like Annie; all of her features whose origin Rob once questioned are displayed on his face. Same narrow, beaked nose. Same dimpled chin. Same high, regal forehead. And as we stare at each other, I recognize something else: behind his dark-rimmed glasses, he has my eyes, the sea-green eyes flecked with gold that Mamie always used to tell me were her favorite thing in the world to look at.
“Jacob Levy,” I say softly, and it’s a statement, not a question, for I already know. Beside me, I can feel Gavin’s hand tighten around mine, and I know he’s realizing, a minute later than I have, how much Jacob looks like my daughter and what this means.
Jacob nods slowly, still staring at me.
“I’m Hope,” I tell him gently. I take a step closer. “Rose’s granddaughter.”
Tears fill his eyes. “She lived,” he murmurs. I nod slowly, and Jacob steps closer, his eyes locked on mine. I pull my hand away from Gavin and step toward Jacob, until we’re just a foot away from each other. He reaches out and slowly, tentatively, reaches for my face. I step closer until I feel his hand on my cheek, rough and gnarled, but as gentle as anything I’ve ever felt. “She lived,” he repeats.
And then his arms are around me, and I can feel him shaking as he begins to sob. I hug him back, and I can feel my tears coming too. I feel like I’m holding on to a piece of the past, the one piece that makes everything complete. I’m holding on to the love of my grandmother’s life, seventy years too late. And unless I’m crazy, unless I’ve imagined my daughter’s features and my own eyes on this man, I’m holding on to the grandfather I never knew I had.
“Is she still alive?” he asks, finally pulling away from the embrace. “Is Rose alive?” There are traces of a French accent in his words; he sounds a lot like Mamie. He continues to hold tightly to my arms, as if he’s afraid of falling if he lets go. There are tears streaming down his face now. My own cheeks are damp too.
I nod. “She had a stroke. She’s in a coma. But she’s alive.”
He gasps and blinks a few times. “Hope,” he says. “You must take me to her. You must take me to my Rose.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Jacob won’t let us stop at his apartment to pack him a bag; he insists we get to Cape Cod as soon as possible, without wasting another moment.
“I must see her,” he says, looking urgently back and forth from Gavin to me. “I must see her as soon as I can.”
I wait with him while Gavin jogs away to go retrieve the Jeep; with his reconstructed hip, Jacob can’t walk very quickly. As we wait on the northern end of Battery Park, along the street, Jacob stares at me as if he’s seen a ghost. There are so many things I want to ask him, but Gavin should be here to hear the answers too.
“You are my granddaughter,” Jacob says softly as we wait. “Are you not?”
I nod slowly. “I think I am.” This all feels so strange; I can’t help but think of the man I spent my life calling Grandpa. This is all so unfair to him. Then again, he obviously knew all along; he had to have made a conscious choice to take my mother in as his own flesh and blood, even though she wasn’t. “You look so much like my daughter,” I admit.