ATER THAT DAY, WHEN the shadows lengthened and cast our room into shades of gray, I lay awake, looking at Nick’s sleeping face. He lay on his stomach, his arms over his head, lashes dark smudges on his cheeks, which were flushed like a little kid’s. Unlike Nick, I hadn’t slept after Round Two. I’d been watching him instead, memorizing his face once again, the effects of the passage of twelve years, the glints of silver in his thick hair, the lines around his eyes. And yet he was the same, the boy who had approached me so long ago and told me I’d be his wife.

The debacle with my mother was pushed firmly into the cellar of my consciousness, where it belonged, replaced with the feelings I had—and, let’s be honest, had always had—for Nick. I didn’t know what would happen between us now, didn’t know where this was going, and the very thought caused a cold trickle of fear. Maybe this was a mistake, sleeping with my ex. But it didn’t feel that way. It felt like…love.

Nick jerked awake, as he always had, looking briefly confused. Then his eyes found mine. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” I whispered.

“I thought you might’ve left,” he said, reaching out to push a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Um…nope. Still here.”

For a long minute, we just looked at each other. “Nick…that night. Back then.”

There was no need to explain which one. He knew. My throat was still a bit raw from all the sobbing earlier, so I kept my voice at a whisper. “I didn’t tell anyone I was married because I was punishing you. I was going to say something, I just…well. But I never would’ve cheated on you, Nick.”

He nodded, and I continued. “When I saw you packing…I just…I just couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t believe we could get back to where we were before. It felt like you were leaving me forever. So I left, too. I left more, you know? That way, I could be the one doing it, not having it done to me.”

“Harper,” he said after a beat, “it was my fault, too.”

This was new. In all our arguments, Nick had never acknowledged any wrongdoing; it had always been me who was supposed to change, accept, understand. He was just working for the future he’d always wanted, and I was the bafflingly miserable wife.

“I took you for granted,” he admitted, taking my hand and studying it. “You tried to tell me you weren’t happy, I didn’t want to hear it, and I should’ve done better.” He paused and looked into my eyes. “It wouldn’t happen again.”

Then he slid his hand into my hair and pulled me closer, and when he kissed me, my heart hurt from happiness, if such a thing was possible. “I missed you,” I whispered against his mouth.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, smiling.

“I guess I’ll have to throw away my Nick voodoo doll.”

He pulled back and looked at me, his eyes smiling. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Maybe.”

“Good start.” He kissed my chin. “Can I get an ‘I love you, Nick’?”

“I think we’ve had enough sappy proclamations for the day,” I answered.

He rolled onto his back, pulled me on top of him, his fingers trailing down my spine. “Say it, woman.”

“It. Woman.”

“God, you’re a pain,” he said, but he was laughing.

“I love you.” The words, which had never come easily, slipped out of my mouth.

His laughter stopped abruptly, and his gypsy eyes softened. “Well, then,” he whispered.

Then he kissed me again, and we didn’t talk again for a good long while, unless you counted “Oh, God, don’t stop” as real conversation.

Which I kind of did.

WHEN WE WERE STARVING and could no longer ignore Coco, who was staring at us from the foot of the bed without blinking, we showered and dressed and took her for a walk. Found a little park nearby and just sat under a tree and held hands, taking turns tossing Coco her ratty little tennis ball.

I didn’t worry about running into my mother. For some reason, I was sure I wouldn’t. Besides, I wanted to just be here, in this moment. The future was unclear, the past was a bog, but now…now was pretty wonderful.

“Harper. About Dennis,” Nick said, his expression somber.

“Dennis and I broke up before we left Glacier,” I said.

“What? Why didn’t…never mind. You broke up, huh? And why was that?”

I glanced at Nick, then threw Coco the ball for the four hundred and seventeenth time. “Well, to be honest, because I wanted to get married, he didn’t.”

Nick cocked an eyebrow. “Really? You want to marry that guy?”

“Not anymore,” I said. Thinking about Dennis still gave me a pang of guilt—that numbered list, my less-than-heartfelt marriage proposal. I was almost surprised I hadn’t done a spreadsheet on the pros and cons of our relationship or devised a mathematical formula for our success potential.

“Are you sure you’re done?” Nick asked.

I kissed the back of his hand. “Yep.”

“Really sure?” he repeated.

“Asked and answered, Your Honor. Can we proceed, or do you need constant reassurance that I’ve chosen to be with you? For the moment. If you play your cards right.”

Nick smiled. “Why do I put up with her, Lord? Come on, I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

We found a little restaurant that didn’t mind a well-behaved dog and ordered dinner. Played footsies as we ate our burgers. We talked a little (and very carefully) about Chris and Willa, drifted into other subjects, places we’d been, places we wanted to see. Knowing Nick loved buildings of all types, I described the courthouse of Martha’s Vineyard, its essential New England feel, the beautiful blue ceiling, the rows of benches, curving staircase and portraits of glowering judges. Nick in turn told me about the building he hoped to build for Drachen Industries, a German investment company.

“It would be our biggest project yet,” he said. “They want it on the banks of the Volme River, and we’d use hydropower wherever we could, you know? And glass, of course. No point in being on the water if you can’t see it from everywhere.” I smiled, listening to his fast, New York way of talking, his clever hands flying. “Anyway, we’re up against Foster, and they tend to kick butt wherever they go. But it’s a little small for them, so you never know.”

“Build me something,” I said. “Right now, mister.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me, then took my plate—the restaurant had provided enough fries to feed me for a month or so—and got to work. He trimmed some of the fries, laced a lettuce leaf with a toothpick, shaved off the remainder of my bun. Occasionally, he’d glance at me for a minute, as if assessing my needs as a client, but I kept quiet, just watched his beautiful hands cut and stack. Even at a silly task like this, he looked so…brilliant, so intent and focused as he carved a door out of a pickle.

“There,” he said. “Your home. All green construction, of course.”

And there it was, a surprisingly sophisticated little house made of French fries, cantilevered and shingled, complete with windows and a little bridge leading to the front door.

“Such a talent,” I said, and he grinned.

“It’s a little small,” he said. “We’ll have to expand when the triplets are born.”

A small wriggle of warning danced through my knees. Nick, I knew from experience, never said anything that didn’t mean something. This was, after all, the guy who’d called me “wife” before he even knew my name. The man with a plan that brooked no deviation. Not that I didn’t want some kind of…something…with Nick, but as my feelings had been through the food processor in the past twelve hours, I—

“Oh, my God!” the waitress said, saving me. “Did you make that?”

We ordered coffee and a slab of chocolate lava cake for Nick. The subject of children, or the future, was not broached again. It was different, this night—in some ways, like a first date, in others, dinner with an old friend. The buzz that always hummed between us was no longer painful, now that I wasn’t pushing it away.

Maybe we could work this time.

It was raining softly when we left the restaurant, and we held hands as we walked, Coco pattering beside us, stopping to sniff a tree once in a while. The hiss of tires on the passing cars, the murmur of water in a drainpipe, the distant roll of thunder all seemed like a blessing.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” Nick asked as we approached the hotel. Coco shook, droplets of rain spattering my already soaked jeans.

I thought for a moment. Work was stable for the moment; I’d emailed the clients who were affected by this week’s sojourn, and the sky wasn’t falling as far as I could tell. “I just want to be with you,” I said, and realized that not only was it true, it felt pretty damn good to say out loud.

Nick seemed to like the answer, because he pressed me against the still-warm and wet brick wall of the hotel, and kissed me till my knees didn’t work anymore. And when we went upstairs to our room, it felt like coming home.

WE WOKE UP IN A LOVELY tangle of limbs before dawn the next morning, spent quite a long time untangling, then decided to see the Sitting Bull monument on our field trip du jour. We said a fond farewell to the hotel, bought muffins and coffee from a little bakery, got some dog food, water and potato chips at the grocery store, and headed for the gravesite of the famous hero.

While I followed my New England imperative to apologize for all the wrongs committed by my ancestors and was murmuring “wicked sorry” to the statue, Nick got a phone call. As soon as he answered, I could tell something was wrong; his voice was terse and fast.

“Hello? Yes, this is he. What? When was that? How did he just walk out? Why wasn’t…oh. You did, good. No, I’m in South Dakota at the moment.” He was quiet for a minute. “No, he’s on his honeymoon. Jason should be…oh. No, that’s fine, I’m on my way.”

My heart sank. “Everything okay, Nick?”

He looked at his phone for a long minute, then turned to me. “I have to go back to New York. My father’s missing.”

“Oh, no!”

He frowned, still not looking at me. “Apparently, he wandered off early this morning when the staff was dealing with another patient. The police are looking for him, but it’s been two hours.” He raised his eyes to mine. “I’m sorry, Harper. I have to get back. As soon as possible.”

“No, no, of course. You have to go.” I paused. “I’ll come too,” I added.

His eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Sure. Let’s go.”

Because of course, what else was I going to do? Let him go alone? I couldn’t help feeling a little sad that we had to go back so soon, just when we were together again. But it couldn’t be helped.

Knowing my Massachusetts lead foot would get us to the airport faster, I drove while he made some calls—his office, a message for Christopher, one to a friend in the city. Last, he tried his stepbrother. “Jason, this is Nick. Dad’s missing; he wandered away from the Roosevelt, and I’m in South Dakota, on my way to the airport. Call me when you get this.” He hung up and tried another number, repeated the message. Tried a third, still to no avail. “Shit,” he muttered.

“Is your stepmother still around?” I asked, vaguely recalling the unnaturally smooth and expressionless face of Lila Cruise Lowery from the two times I’d met her.

“She can’t deal,” Nick said shortly. “She said her heart was too broken to see him like this, so she hasn’t been around. Moved to North Carolina a couple years ago. And anyway, she’s on a cruise of the Greek isles at the moment.”

Right. Her reason for missing Chris and Willa’s wedding. “Where does Jason live, Nick? Is he any closer?”

“Jason lives in Philly, but he’s not picking up right now.” Coco, sensing Nick needed some sugar, licked his wrist. He gave a reluctant smile and patted her head, which she took as permission to curl up in his lap.

“They’ll find him, Nick,” I said, reaching over for his hand.

“I’m really sorry about this,” he said again.

“By the time we get to the airport, you’ll probably get a call saying he’s back, safe and sound,” I offered.

That wasn’t the case, unfortunately, but the good news was, Nick’s travel agent had found us a direct flight to New York. Coco was not pleased to have to go into her crate and looked at me mournfully through the bars before curling around her bunny with a reproachful sigh.

By far, the worst part of an emergency is the inability to act. As the plane finally took flight, Nick grew more and more tense. We held hands, but we didn’t talk much as the minutes ticked by. The no-cell-phone rule kept us in limbo as to what was happening in New York, but as soon as wheels touched tarmac, Nick was on the phone again. No sign of his father.

When we emerged into the terminal, the noise of the JFK was deafening. I’d forgotten how loud the city was, the languages, the colors, people streaming in every direction. After a week on the road through beautiful nowhere, it was a shock. Nick, however, had reverted into the fast-walking New Yorker he was. We picked up Coco and our bags, and after walking for what felt like miles, made it outside, where the heat and noise and smell of jet fuel welcomed us to New York like a punch to the head.

A car service was waiting; Nick greeted the driver by name and helped heft our bags into the trunk. Then we headed toward Manhattan, which had briefly been my home. The skyline glittered, sharp and unforgiving and beautiful in the blazing sunshine.

Poor Mr. Lowery. He may have been a callow jerk in life, but now he was a confused old man, alone in the teeth of the city. Coco seemed to agree…she whined and trembled, though it was probably in response to the roar of the jets overhead, the cars surrounding us. The driver nudged the car onto the Queensboro Bridge, ignoring the blare of horns from behind.

“So what’s the plan, Nick?” I asked. He was staring out the window, his mouth tight, eyes sharp.

“The officer in charge is waiting for us at the nursing home,” he said. “He’ll fill us in then. How my father could just wander out—” He shook his head and said no more.

Coco sat quietly on my lap, shivering occasionally as we headed up Park Avenue. It was a very posh area, of course; once I’d spent the afternoon around here, a lonely newlywed trying to fall in love with the city that was such a part of Nick. I pushed the memory aside and stared out the window, hoping against hope to see Nick’s dad.

By the time we pulled up in front of the Roosevelt Center on East 65th Street, it was three-thirty in the afternoon, a miracle of efficiency on the part of Nick’s travel agent and assistant, and still Nick’s father was missing. A detective and the director of the facility, an understandably anxious woman named Alicia, greeted us and brought us into a sitting room.

“Mr. Lowery,” she said to Nick, “you have my deepest apologies on this. Apparently, one of the new staffers inadvertently shut off the front door alarm, and—”

“We’ll deal with how this happened later on,” Nick said tersely. “What are you doing right now, where have you looked, what was my father wearing, how many people are out looking?”

They filled us in on the efforts thus far—an APB, photos, news coverage, neighborhood canvassing, K-9 unit. They handed us the flyer they were passing out, which featured a large, clear photo of Nick’s dad. My heart lurched. Mr. Lowery—Call me Ted—had aged shockingly. His hair was thin and white, and his face held a slack, sweet expression. He couldn’t have been more than sixty-five, but he looked eighty.

“Is there anywhere he might’ve wanted to go, Nick?” I asked when the briefing was over. I didn’t watch Law & Order for nothing.

“I was just about to ask that,” Detective Garcia said.

Nick ran a hand through his hair. “Did you call his old company?” he asked. “Maybe he went there.”

A quick phone call ascertained that Mr. Lowery had not shown up at his old building on Madison Avenue. Though it seemed unlikely that he’d have the ability to find his way back to his old house in Westchester County, the current owners were notified and asked to call immediately if they saw him.

Neither Lila nor Jason had returned Nick’s calls.

“Any sentimental places he’d go, Nick?” I asked. “Central Park? Maybe his favorite restaurant? The zoo?” I hesitated. “Places he took you boys as kids?”

Nick glanced at me, then slumped back in his chair. “I don’t know,” he admitted. Because of course, Ted hadn’t taken him many places at all. “Jason might have a better idea.” He closed his eyes. “Well, I’m not going to just sit here,” he said. “I’ll head for the park. What was he wearing this morning?”

The director glanced anxiously at Detective Garcia. “Well, here,” she said. “We have the security tape, in which you can clearly see your father leaving and heading west.”

The tape was already loaded; the director clicked the remote, and we saw the front entrance of the Roosevelt Center. A second later, the film showed a man simply walking out the door.

The quality of the film was good; it was definitely Mr. Lowery, clad in what appeared to be a sport coat, dark T-shirt and sneakers.

No pants. None at all. I clutched Coco a little more tightly.

“Oh, shit,” Nick muttered. “He’s wandering the city bare-assed?”

I bit my lip, and Nick glanced at me. “Don’t laugh,” he warned, but his mouth twitched.

“No. Not funny at all,” I agreed. “I’ll go with you, Nick.”

Coco, Nick and I took a bunch of flyers and headed west, toward the park and Museum Mile, past the limestone and brick townhouses adorned with wrought-iron balconies, down the tree-lined streets of the wealthy. We passed a homeless man, sleeping next to the garbage cans in front of a beautiful brownstone. It wasn’t Mr. Lowery, but Nick took a good look anyway, then took a twenty out of his wallet and tucked it into the guy’s boot.

“I thought the mayor discouraged that,” I said.

“Screw the mayor,” Nick answered. I had to trot to keep up. Coco, however, loved the pace and galloped joyfully on her leash. Despite biking to and from work each day, I was panting by the time we reached Fifth Avenue. It was so hot, and the air was heavy and damp.

“Nick, can you slow down a little?”

“My father’s out there somewhere,” he said tightly, walking across the street against the light. Swallowing, I dashed after him—I’d never mastered the art of jaywalking.

“Nick, wait,” I said. I grabbed his hand and dug in my heels, stopping him. “Just…wait.”

“Harper—” His voice choked off, and I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his neck.

“This will turn out okay, you’ll see,” I said. “But it’s a big city. Let’s try to be smart about this, because we can’t just run all over Manhattan. Where do you think he’d go?”

He pulled back and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know, Harper. I just…we never did that much together. If that idiot Jason would call, maybe he’d know, but I just can’t think of anything.”

“Okay, well, what do we know? He’s not at work…anything he’s always loved? Like, I don’t know…dinosaurs? Maybe he’d head to the Museum of Natural History?”

Nick shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

“What about horses? He rode, right? Isn’t there a stable somewhere in the park?”

Nick’s face lit up. “You’re a genius, Harper.” With that, he hailed a cab.

TWO HOURS LATER, WE’D come up empty. No sign of Mr. Lowery, not at either of the two uptown stables, not at the recreation center in the park itself where the trail rides began. Nick had called the police with the idea that his father might’ve sought out a place with horses, and they were doing the same thing we were, with unfortunately the same results.

We passed out a bunch of flyers, spoke to everyone we could, but things were looking bad. At this point, we were simply walking through Central Park, which was full of the usual suspects—tourists from all over the earth, runners, students lounging on the grass, kids climbing on the rocks. I’d forgotten how loud New York was, the endless noise of traffic, horns blasting, sirens calling, the chatter of people, the blare of radios and street musicians.

Nick had been checking in with the nursing home and cops every fifteen minutes. Apparently, there’d been a few reports of a man matching Mr. Lowery’s description, but none had turned out to be the real deal.

I myself was sticky, dirty and getting more and more anxious as the day wore on. And starving—my last meal, for lack of a better word, had been a pack of pretzels on the airplane. I bought a hot dog from a street vendor for Coco while Nick was on the phone, but only had enough cash for one. I carried Coco now, concerned about the effects of asphalt on her little paws, and my arms were aching. She may have weighed only eight pounds, but she felt like an unconscious Great Dane at this point.

It was hard not to picture the worst-case scenario…poor Mr. Lowery wandering onto the West Side Highway or falling into the East River or being hurt by an evil thug. My heart ached for Nick—such a devoted son, despite his father’s shortcomings.

Jason had called; apparently he was at a casino in Vegas and had no suggestions on where to look for his adoptive father. Chris was still out of reach, though Nick left him another message.

“We’ll find him,” I said, not at all convinced of the truth of that statement. Nick nodded, clearly disheartened.

Then his phone rang. “Nick Lowery,” he answered. His expression changed. “Where? Okay. We’re on our way.” He hung up, grabbed my hand and started running for the street. “You were right about the horses,” he said. “Someone spotted a guy with no pants down by the carriages and called it in. Taxi!” A yellow cab veered out of traffic and Nick opened the door. I slid in, Coco in my arms, more grateful than I could say at getting off my feet.

“Fifth and Fifty-Ninth,” Nick told the cabbie, then turned to me. “By the time the cop got to the spot where the guy had seen him, Dad was gone, but someone maybe saw him heading down Fifth, so…” His voice was hopeful, his knee jiggling with nervous energy.

It was clear the cops were on the job, because there was a glut of black-and-white cruisers there on Fifth where horse carriages lined the sidewalks across from the Plaza Hotel. Nick’s phone rang again. “Yeah? Okay. Okay, sure.” He clicked off. “Another possible sighting by St. Pat’s.” He knocked on the Plexiglas divider. “Keep going down Fifth, okay?” he asked. “Real slow. I’m looking for my dad.”

We passed FAO Schwartz and CBS, Bergdorf Goodman and Tiffany’s, as well as places that hadn’t been there when I’d lived here—Niketown and Abercrombie. There was Rolex, Cartier Jeweler’s, St. Thomas, the beautiful Episcopal church with the blue stained-glass windows and white marble altar, a place where I’d sought refuge from the heat one summer day. Midtown was packed, as it was now well into rush hour.

“You’d think someone would stop an old guy without pants,” I murmured, looking out my side of the window. Then again, this was New York City.

“Yeah,” Nick said, gnawing on his thumbnail. At St. Patrick’s Cathedral, his phone rang again, just as we were pulling over. “Shit. Where? Okay.” He hung up. “Keep going, okay?” he asked the cabbie.

“Whatever you want, mister,” the driver answered, glancing in the rearview mirror.

“They got a call from someone who might’ve seen him farther downtown,” Nick informed me, looking out the window. “The cops are all over St. Pat’s, but nothing yet.”

Half a block farther, Nick lurched forward. “Stop! Pull over! There he is,” he said, pointing.

And sure enough, Mr. Lowery—though I wouldn’t have recognized him—was shambling along in front of the flag-bedecked building that was Saks Fifth Avenue. Still no pants, I noted. Traffic was thick, and Nick didn’t bother waiting for the driver to make it to the curb. He threw a few bills at the driver and was out of the car before it stopped. A good number of horns blasted as he dodged through the heavy traffic to the sidewalk. “Be careful!” I shouted.

The cabbie pulled over—on the opposite side of the street from Saks, alas, but traffic was like a solid wall. “Good luck,” he said as I got out with Coco.

“Thanks,” I called. Dang. I couldn’t see Nick or Mr. Lowery—wait, there was Nick, just disappearing into Saks. Surely the security guards would grab Mr. Lowery.

Clutching the ever-heavier Coco to my chest, I ran to the corner to cross the street with the light, dodging people, bumping into more than a few. “Sorry, sorry,” I said, waiting impatiently for the light to change yet unwilling to defy death by crossing against it.

Then I saw Mr. Lowery. He wasn’t in Saks…he was across the street in all his pantsless wonder, sport coat still on, scratching his, um…okay! Where was a cop when you needed one? And of course, Nick was inside the store.

At least now Mr. Lowery was getting some attention; passersby stared, grabbed their kids and steered well clear of him as he crossed the intersection, looked up at the store on the corner, and went inside.

It was American Girl Place, that bastion of juvenile femininity. Dolls. Dress-up clothes. Tea parties. And now, a half-naked old man.

“Oh, shit,” I muttered.

Then the light changed, and I flew across the street and into the foyer of the store, which was packed with, oh, hell, dozens of girls and their parents, red-and-white bags everywhere. Holding Coco tightly as she wriggled in excitement, I stood on tiptoe and peered in each direction. No Mr. Lowery. Come on! Where’d he go? He hardly blended in here.

There he was, just disappearing around a display of cheerful dolls all dressed in purple leotards.

“Mommy!” said a little girl. “I can see that man’s—”

“OMG!” I shouted as loudly as I could. “Justin Bieber is right outside! I just saw Justin Bieber!”

The air split with high-pitched squealing, and suddenly, several dozen girls stampeded for the door. I dodged, twisted, got a little trampled, but then again, I just saved about a hundred girls from learning far too much about the aging male anatomy. Dodging shrieking females, I ran to where Mr. Lowery had disappeared. Coco barked as I passed a tired-looking security guard (who obviously wasn’t all that good at her job!). “No dogs in the store, ma’am,” she said wearily.

“Yeah, and no naked old men, either, but that’s what you have, so let’s shake it, okay?” I called over my shoulder. There was an escalator in front of me, a hallway to my right. I hesitated, then charged up the escalator, and there he was, right in front of gift wrapping. His thin white hair was disheveled, his shoes filthy. The young woman behind the counter apparently couldn’t see that he had nothing on below the waist except Nikes, because she asked very sweetly, “And what can I do for you today, sir?”

“Mr. Lowery?” I said. He didn’t turn my way. The security guard arrived, panting a bit. “Can you get him something to wear?” I whispered.

“Like what? Felicity’s nightgown?” she muttered. “My shift ended two minutes ago.”

“Be helpful,” I said. “Random act of kindness, okay?” I cleared my throat. “Mr. Lowery? Ted?”

He turned, and my heart broke a little.

“Hi,” I said. “How are you? Haven’t seen you for a while.” I smiled past the lump in my throat. He didn’t much resemble the man I once knew, that smug, confident schmoozer who neglected his firstborn son. No. This man was confused, lost and old before his time.

“Do I know you?” he asked hesitantly.

“I’m your son’s wife,” I said.

“Jason? Jason’s married?” He frowned.

“No. Not yet. I’m Nick’s wife. Harper. Remember?”

“Nick?”

“Yes. Your son Nick. Your oldest boy.” I smiled again and approached slowly—after all, this guy had been dodging NYPD all day, and I didn’t want him cavorting through the store, flashing little girls.

“Oh, yes. I have boys. Sons.”

“Good guys, too. Handsome like their dad, right?”

He smiled at that, and I saw a hint of the man he’d once been. “That’s a nice dog,” he said, reaching out to pet Coco. Bless her noble heart, she licked his hand and wagged, and Mr. Lowery smiled. “Can I hold him?” he asked.

“Sure. But she’s a girl.”

“I only have sons,” he said.

The guard came back with a blanket. “Best we could do,” she said, much less grumpily.

“I’m gonna call Nick, okay, Mr. Lowery? He’s been on a trip, and he’s dying to see you,” I said.

The man who was once my father-in-law looked up at me and grinned, the ghost of his old personality flitting across his face. “Call me Ted.”