"That'll be rough," I said. "But, I'm taking her up, anyway."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"You're the boss," he said, handing me one of the paper cups. He raised his to his lips. "Here's luck."
By two o'clock the next afternoon, we still weren't ready.
The number-two starboard engine spit oil like a gusher every time we started it up and we couldn't find the leak.
I stood on the dock, staring up at her. "We'll have to pull her off," Amos said, "and get her up to the shop."
I looked at him. "How long will that take?"
"Two, three hours. If we're lucky and find what's wrong right away.
Maybe we better put off taking her up until tomorrow."
I looked at my watch.
"What for?
We'll still have three and a half hours of daylight at five o'clock." I started back toward his office. "I'm going back to your office and grab a snooze on the couch.
Call me as soon as she's ready."
But I might as well have tried to sleep in a boiler factory, for all the shouting and cursing and hammering and riveting.
Then the telephone rang and I got up to answer it.
"Hello, Dad?" It was Monica's voice.
"No, this is Jonas. I’ll get him for you."
"Thanks."
Laying the telephone down on the desk, I went to the door and called Amos.
I went back to the couch and stretched out as he picked up the phone.
He shot a peculiar look at me when he heard her voice.
"Yes, I'm a little busy." He was silent for a little while, listening to her. When he spoke again, he was smiling. "That's wonderful.
When are you leaving?… Then I’ll fly to New York when this job is finished.
We'll have a celebration.
Give my love to Jo-Ann."
He put down the telephone and came over to me. "That was Monica," he said, looking down at me.
"I know."
"She's leaving for New York this afternoon.
S. J. Hardin just made her managing editor of Style and wants her back there right away."
"That's nice," I said.
"She's taking Jo-Ann back with her.
You haven't seen the kid for a long time now, have you?"
"Not since the time you walked the two of them out of my apartment at the Drake in Chicago, five years ago."
"You oughta see her. The kid's turning into a real beauty."
I stared up at him. Now I'd seen everything – Amos Winthrop playing proud grandpa.
"Man, you've really changed, haven't you?"
"Sooner or later, a man has to wise up," Amos said, flushing embarrassedly. "You find out you did a lot of fool things to hurt the people you love and if you're not a prick altogether, you try to make up for them."
"I heard about that, too," I said sarcastically.
I wasn't in the mood for any lectures from the old bastard, no matter how much he'd reformed. "They tell me that generally happens when you can't get it up any more."
A trace of the old Amos came into his face. He was angry, I could see it.
"I got a mind to tell you a couple of things."
"Like what, Amos?"
"Ready to remount the engine, Mr. Winthrop," a man called from the doorway.
"I'll be there in a minute." Amos turned back to me. "You remind me of this after we get back from the test flight."
I grinned, watching him walk out the door.
At least, he hadn't gone so holy-holy that I couldn't get his goat.
I sat up and started looking under the couch for my shoes.
When I got outside, the engine was turning over, sweet and smooth.
"She seems O.K. to me now," Amos said, turning to me.
I looked at my watch. It was four thirty.