Contents

Title Page
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
About the Author
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I Married a Billionaire: The Prodigal Son

By Melanie Marchande

Copyright © Melanie Marchande

Please note: this book is a standalone followup to

I Married a

Billionaire

and

I Married a Billionaire: Lost and Found

.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to

real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

One

“Do you think it’s salvageable?”
I looked up at him.
“Okay,” he said. “All right. Never mind.”
“I didn’t say anything.” I put the manuscript down on the kitchen island.
One corner of Daniel Thorne’s mouth twisted up into a wry smile. “You didn’t have to.”
It had been almost six months since someone managed to plant the idea of a biography in my

husband’s head. He’d been taking meetings with writers ever since, and it had been a more difficult
process than he’d anticipated. Eventually he started bringing sample manuscripts home to me, and I
had to admit, the pickings were pretty slim.

“I could deal with the, uh, workmanlike prose,” I said, standing up. “I mean, it’s nonfiction. But

the grammar? And the sentence structure? It’s so awkward.”

“I’m awkward,” said Daniel, with his head halfway into the cupboard. “Maybe this is the one. Did

you eat all the Nutella?”

I sighed. “Yes, Danny. Yes. The answer is always yes.” I walked over to him, resting my hand on

the small of his back until he turned to look at me. “Don’t say things like that.”

“I wouldn’t have to, if you’d just buy more when you finish it.”
I made a face at him. “You know what I’m referring to, asshole.”
He wound his arm around my neck, leaning down and planting a kiss on my forehead.
“I’ve got a few more meetings next week,” he said. “Odds are, one of them will work out. I’m

getting tired of telling the same stories over and over.”

“Odds are?” I repeated, following him out into the living room. “Have you been following the

odds so far? They’re not in your favor.”

“I never was very good at statistics.”
Shaking my head, I went back to sorting through the mail.
After the first tumultuous few years of our relationship, it was amazing how comfortably we’d

settled in. I found myself unable to imagine life without him. A dangerous place to be, for sure, but I
was strangely content with it.

It probably wouldn’t have been so strange if I’d been one of those girls who actively sought Mr.

Right, or even Mr. Right Now. But when I’d started working for Daniel at the main office of his

company, Plum Technologies, I had already pretty much given up on either of those possibilities.
There simply wasn’t someone out there for me. But no, that wasn’t it, exactly. It was more that I just
didn’t want to be that close to someone. The whole idea was so unappealing to me; living with
someone, being accountable to them at all times, sharing every waking moment. It sounded like a
nightmare - and in practice, it usually was.

But then, there was Thorne.
Daniel was someone who’d been burned before, maybe even more so than I ever was. That, I

suppose, made him an ideal candidate. But neither one of us approached this thing with any intentions
of becoming what it was now. He simply needed someone to marry so he could stay in the country,
and I was broke. If I agreed to marry him, we could both get something we desperately needed.

Well, that turned out to be true. But it wasn’t what either one of us expected.
I suppose we were both so lonely, so starved for affection, even if we didn’t want to admit it, that

just pretending to be in love triggered that endorphin rush. We were hooked on each other from day
one. But it took many more days for us to admit it.

After a few scares with the INS and one of Daniel’s crazy ex-girlfriends, we finally admitted to

each other that maybe it was time to pursue this…thing, whatever it was. Naturally, after we’d finally
settled into a our real relationship, some old enemies from Daniel’s past tried to frame him for
insider trading. Once the nail-biting stress and chaos were over with, I suppose we’d reached a new
level of…well…I’m not sure, exactly. But I was almost afraid of how much I liked it.

Safety. Security. Not just financial, but emotional. I understood now why so many people seemed

to wander the world aimlessly looking for the half to make them whole, even if it was never an
ambition I’d shared. Being Daniel’s wife was deeply comforting, and deeply satisfying, in ways I
couldn’t possibly have anticipated.

I had just finished shoving all the junk mail into the recycling when he brushed past me again,

heading for the fridge. “Don’t forget about that dinner tonight.”

Ugh. I almost had forgotten. This one was for charity, although most of them seemed to be, and I

could hardly keep them straight. To make things worse, Emily, the boutique owner who’d basically
become my personal stylist since I started “seeing” Daniel, was on vacation. I didn’t trust my own
taste, and after a few snarky blog posts I’d learned that I couldn’t wear the same dress twice to any
event where there would be media coverage.

I didn’t even know where to start. I’d been putting off the dress shopping for far too long already,

and now I only had a few hours left.

The thought of asking Daniel to come for a second opinion occurred to me, but in the end, I

decided against it. I gathered up my purse and jacket and headed out into the crisp autumn air, alone.

For some reason, I couldn’t deal with the idea of going into an unfamiliar boutique and being

eyeballed by some hipster clerk, so I went to a department store instead. Which, of course, quickly
proved to be a mistake.

There was absolutely nothing that appealed to me, style-wise, but I was going to have to make the

best of it. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the colors either. Did all the designers get together
this year and say, “let’s make everyone dress like they’re appliances in a 1970s kitchen?”

After flipping through rack after rack of sartorial disasters, I was beginning to feel intensely

discouraged. I never should have put off my shopping until the last minute, but these events had
become so routine to me - so boring, even - that I just ended up procrastinating. I supposed this was
my punishment. A purgatory of browns, oranges, and avocado-greens.

Then, suddenly, something caught my eye.

Excitedly, I grabbed the hanger and wrestled it out from the back of the pile. It was something in a

deep red, something that actually looked like a color that a human being would want to put on their
body. I finally pulled it free, and held it up under the light.

My heart started to sink. The color was as lovely as I’d hoped, but the style…well, it was

admittedly difficult to tell while it was slouching over a hanger, but it just didn’t seem right at all. The
fabric was sort of thin and stretchy, the shoulders somehow overly square, and the two sides sort of
met and folded over each other in a deep V at the neckline. It was very early eighties, actually, now
that I looked at it more closely.

Did I accidentally time-travel this morning?
Oh, well, there was nothing for it. I absolutely was not going to wrap myself in something that

matched my dad’s used VW Beetle that he had when I was a baby, so I had no choice but to try on this
monstrosity of a red dress. Maybe it would be better than I expected.

In the fitting room, I didn’t dare even turn towards the mirror until I’d finished pulling it on. And

even then, I had the insane urge to cover my eyes and just peek between my fingers.

I gritted my teeth.
It wasn’t terrible.
The v-neck was so low that it almost showed part of my stomach, and the strange fold made it look

like my breasts were different sizes. It was very clingy around the middle. The length was strange,
too, just below the knee, as if it had been designed for someone much shorter than I was. Or much
taller.

Overall, though, it wasn’t a complete disaster. And it was passable for just one night. Anyway, it

had to be better than committing the cardinal sin of re-wearing a dress.

As I reluctantly paid for my purchase, I fought off the uneasy feeling that I was becoming exactly

what I didn’t want to be. I was letting my decisions be influenced by strangers. Strangers whose
entire job was to watch and criticize my every move. I was playing right into their hand, even if I was
rolling my eyes while I did it.

But what choice did I have, really? I was going to be labeled as something, one way or the other.

If I followed their ridiculous “rules,” I was shallow. If I accidentally put a toe out of line, I was
laughable. And if I just decided to forget the whole thing and live my life like a normal person, I was
the quirky, crazy, anti-establishment oddity that would have everyone shaking their heads - and
smiling, maybe, but with pity. Will she ever grow up?

No matter what I did, I was still defined by their standards. And so tonight, I was going to show up

at a benefit dinner for some charity that I’d probably never heard of, in a dress that looked like I’d
pulled it out of my mom’s closet. The best I could hope for was that someone would call it “retro”
and that would be the end of the discussion.

I tossed the bag into my car, angrily, and drove home so aggressively that I swore I saw a few cab

drivers cringe in fear.

“What if I just didn’t go?” was the first thing I said as I flung myself dramatically through the front

door. The bag landed with a sad little thump.

Daniel didn’t look up from his phone. “It might look odd,” he said. “I mean, considering.”
Considering. Obviously, I was supposed to remember what this benefit was actually for, and it

probably had something to do with me. Women? Starving artists? The fashion-challenged?

“I don’t understand what’s happening with dresses this season,” I said. “There’s literally nothing

good out there.”

“Did you go to Emily’s?” was his first question, predictably. “Her friend’s keeping it open for the

week, you know.”

“I know. I can’t stand the way she looks at me.” Every time I went there when Emily wasn’t

around, I could feel the judgment and distaste radiating off of her friend in waves. Apparently, she
was descended from some obscure line of European royalty, but in my opinion that was absolutely no
excuse.

Daniel, bless him, just stood up silently, came over, and kissed me gently on the forehead.
“It’s going to be a lovely night,” he said. “I promise. And you’ll look as beautiful as always.”
I melted a little.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wandering over and collapsing onto the sofa. “I’m just…I don’t know, I’m just

tired.” It was true, and I was just now realizing it. I had absolutely no right to be, really. I drew
pictures when I felt like it, had a few gallery showings every month, and went to charity galas where
the most taxing thing I had to do was smile all night. But for some reason, lately, I’d just been
exhausted. It didn’t matter how long I slept, I’d wake up bone-tired and drag myself through the rest of
my day, aching to collapse into bed again.

Daniel followed me to the living room, lifting my legs up by my ankles so he could sit down, and

then letting them back down to drape across his lap. “You seem to be sleeping well enough,” he said.

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” I grumbled, draping my arm over my face.

Somehow, even the sunlight filtering through the blinds was more than I could take right then. He was
trying to tease me about my snoring, but I wasn’t really in the mood. I still wasn’t sure if I actually did
it, or if he just claimed that I did because he enjoyed my outraged denials so much.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” he asked, stroking my leg gently. He sounded more

concerned now, probably because I didn’t even have the energy to argue with him about what noises I
might or might not make while I was asleep.

I shrugged. “Dunno. Feels like forever, but probably more like a week. Probably coming down

with something.”

“Everyone’s sneezing,” he agreed. “Maybe you ought to go in and see someone. Just in case. If it’s

the flu, you don’t want to wait too long or the treatments won’t work.”

“I’m not that tired,” I said, which wasn’t strictly true. But it was a different kind of tired than I’d

ever really experienced, even when I was sick.

Daniel, for his part, never seemed to succumb to anything that went around. Since we’d been

together, he’d seen me at my most pathetic - pale and sweating, shivering and sneezing and worse -
but our situations had never been reversed. I smiled a little bit, trying to imagine Daniel with the
sniffles.

He was stroking my leg gently. “Just find a way to live through tonight, and then you’ll get a few

days off from all the taxing duties of being my wife.”

I moved my arm, and opened one eye to look at him. “All of the duties?”
He grinned. “Well,” he said. “Maybe not all.”

***

I took a deep breath, and stepped out of the town car.

John, the driver, gave us a jaunty wave. I smoothed my hair and took Daniel’s arm as we

approached the huge marble staircase. They certainly spared no expense for this one.

The banquet hall was grand, and already packed to the gills with people. We made our way

through the crowd, searching for the place cards with our names on them. I knew the drill by now. If
you walked with purpose, you were less likely to end up with a microphone or a camera shoved in
your face.

“Hey, Thorne! Thorne!” Someone was waving from across the room, and he looked about ready to

elbow his way through the sea of people like a runningback. Daniel, his smile frozen, started towards
him to meet halfway. I followed.

Once he was closer, I recognized the man. He was the owner of the company whose stock Daniel

had been accused of trading on inside information; I had only met him once or twice, when he’d
testified in the trial. I couldn’t quite recall his name. Stephen something?

“It’s good to see you,” said Daniel, shaking his hand, almost sounding like he meant it. “How’s

everything been?”

“Oh, just fantastic. Great.”
Stephen’s wife was looking me up and down. “Hello, dear,” she said, doing a decent job of

covering up the fact that she couldn’t remember my name either. “That’s a very - interesting dress.”

“Thanks,” I said, although I was pretty sure it wasn’t a compliment.
“The color’s certainly appropriate for the occasion, though,” she said. I glanced around the room;

there actually were a fair number of other women in red.

“Right,” I said. “Because of…the…”
“Women’s heart disease awareness,” she said, her smile warming a little. “Don’t worry, I have

trouble keeping track of them too.”

I let out a long breath. “Thanks. Now I know what my, uh…talking points are, I guess.” We’d been

standing still too long. I could see the journalists starting to descend upon us. “Is the dress really that
bad? It was all they had at the store that wasn’t…even more horrible.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” she said, in a tone that made me not quite believe her.
“Mrs. Thorne,” said a journalist, before rattling off her name and affiliation so quickly that I

immediately forgot. “How are you doing tonight?”

“Great,” I said. “Just great. How are you?”
“Do you have any personal connection to the cause tonight?”
I breathed a silent prayer of thanks to Stephen’s wife, What’s-Her-Name. “Well, you know, as a

woman, of course I’m deeply concerned about the fact that heart disease is often overlooked. It’s a
number one killer of women, yet it’s still thought of as being a men’s disease. Most people don’t even
know how to properly resuscitate a woman, or hook her up to a defibrillator. Their heart attack
symptoms are different, even. It’s important that we get the word out about these issues. Women are
dying every day.” I was rattling off facts that I vaguely remembered having read in some news article
online, and I could see that the journalist’s eyes were starting to glaze over. “Anyway, that’s…you
know, that’s just how I feel about it.” It was a pretty weak way to end it, but hopefully they’d cut that
part out for their quotable quote.

“Thank you, Mrs. Thorne,” she said. “Your passion is…inspiring.”
“No problem.” I drifted over towards Daniel, who’d been drawn into the orbit of another

journalist.

“…and I think every man should be concerned - I am. For my wife, for my sister, for…my

daughter, someday, if…” he drifted off, glancing at me as I approached.

“You’re planning to have a family? Any time soon?” The journalist had a gleam in his eyes.
“Well, no. No,” Daniel modified, quickly. “We don’t - well, we’ve still got plenty of time. I’m

young. We’re young. And the way things are now, it wouldn’t really be fair to a kid. I work long
hours. Someday. Maybe. I don’t know.”

The journalist finally took pity on him, and directed the line of questioning elsewhere. I stood by,

hearing the words, but lost in thought about what he’d said before. Daniel and I had talked about
children. Honestly, I was a little terrified of the idea, and he seemed pretty reticent as well. He
seemed convinced that his own father had never wanted them, and he couldn’t stand the idea of
becoming like that. I could understand the impulse, even if I was convinced that he’d be a much better
dad than his father ever was.

I’d be lying if I said the thought never crossed my mind. Sometimes I’d see a kid with bright green

eyes like his, or dark hair with those loose, wavy curls. And I’d wonder. What would little Daniel
look like? Or…Daniela?

I chuckled to myself as we sat down to dinner. Of course I’d never actually saddle one of our kids

with their father’s name. It was just funny to imagine. I remembered Daniel’s sister, Lindsey, telling
me about how he’d been hyper and uncontrollable when he was little. It was hard to picture. I wanted
to see it firsthand, and there was really only one way to do that.

Of course, there was no guarantee we’d ever have a son. We might have a daughter, like he’d said.

We might have a little girl with his features, and I didn’t mind admitting that she’d be quite pretty if
she did. Prettier than me.

A plate appeared in front of me, but I wasn’t really interested in the idea of eating. I pushed the

steak around, trying to psych myself up for actually taking a bite.

“Do you really want to have a daughter?” I said, at last, quietly. Daniel froze for a moment, then

laid his fork down carefully on the edge of his plate.

“It was just something to say for the press,” he said, his voice very cool and even. “I wish I hadn’t.

Now they’re going to latch onto it. There’s nothing they want more than a Thorne heir. It would give
them fodder for ages.”

A Thorne heir. Leave it to Danny to come up with the coldest possible way to describe our

potential child.

“Oh, okay.” I stared at my plate, keeping my voice low. I was mindful that someone might be

listening. “Just curious.”

Two

I woke up to a buzzing from my phone on the nightstand. Groping for it blindly, I tried to remember

what that particular notification sound signified. Daniel had guilted me into beta-testing an operating
system overhaul, and all of my settings had been scrambled.

It took a few seconds of blinking and shaking my head before I was able to understand the popup

alert. It was an email, from Emily. The subject line said:

Got something to tell me?
I opened it, my sleepy brain unable to even halfway guess at the contents.
Inside, there was a link, leading to a gossip blog I was pretty sure I’d been featured on before.

And underneath:

P.S. Next time, let me pick the dress.
Cringing, I clicked the link.
The site took a painfully long time to load. I had to zoom in on my mobile browser before my still-

blurry eyes could process what I was seeing.

DANIEL THORNE’S BRIDE - SPORTING A BABY BUMP?
I scrolled down to the picture, hoping against hope that I was actually still asleep, and this was

nothing more than a nightmare.

Out of all the times I had consciously and subconsciously posed for the camera, they’d managed to

dig out a picture of me walking down the stairs as we left for the night, from the most unflattering
angle possible. And the way the dress bunched around my stomach - okay, even I had to admit it
looked a little suspicious.

Oh, God.
Madeline Thorne was looking radiant in her eighties throwback dress at the benefit for

women’s heart disease - but did she pick it for a reason other than the color? Maybe she just
needed something to fit over her growing bundle of joy. Daniel mentioned a “future daughter” in
a conversation with a journalists, and sources say they overheard the couple speaking in hushed
tones over dinner.

The couple leads an intensely private life, but…
I couldn’t read any more. I went back to Emily’s email and typed a one-word response:
NO!!!!!!

Against all logic, a few minutes later, I found myself staring at my reflection in the mirror,

sideways. I’d never been one of those flat-stomached girls, but I didn’t exactly have a “baby bump”
either. And certainly not one with an actual baby in it.

One I’d stopped frowning at my reflection, I went back to my phone and texted Daniel.
The gossip blogs think I’m pregnant.
I was already halfway through breakfast when his response came.
Ha ha.

***

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it?”
Daniel looked up from the sheaf of papers in his hand. “Hmm?”
“I mean, if I was.” I stared at the computer screen. “Pregnant.”
Daniel frowned at the paperwork. “But you’re not,” he said.
“Of course I’m not,” I said. “And if I was far along enough to show, I’d definitely know about it.”
“I should hope so.” He flipped through a few of the papers, and set them down. “Let me ask you

something.”

“Sure,” I said, sitting back.
“How’s that OS update?” He jerked his head in the direction of my phone. “I’ve got a meeting

with the team tomorrow afternoon. I’d like to report back on the user experience.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course.” I cleared my throat. “Well, I don’t like that it jumbled all my settings.”
“Which ones?” He was pulling a tiny notebook out of his pocket. “Be specific.”
“Ringtones. My wallpaper. I don’t know. Everything.”
“And this happened immediately after you installed the update?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
He was scribbling. I looked back at the picture of myself that was blown up full-size on my

computer screen; by this time, it had appeared on every gossip blog I knew about, and several I
didn’t. I figured it was only a matter of time before it actually headlined a tabloid. This wasn’t my
first rodeo. But admittedly, it was the first time I’d been accused of being pregnant.

No, “accused” wasn’t the right word. Actually, from the tone of the articles, it almost seemed like

they were…happy for me. That meant that they expected their readers to be happy for me, too.

I had ventured into the comments sections of a few of the blogs, against my better judgment, but

very few of the discussions actually had anything to do with me, and before long, the whole thing
devolved into a pissing match between two different people who apparently had very fundamentally
different beliefs about the New World Order, though to the untrained eye, they seemed exactly the
same.

I considered using some of Daniel’s contacts in the media to do the classic “sorry, I’m not

pregnant” disclaimer, but I figured no one would believe me anyway. All most readers needed was to
see my name near the word “pregnant” and it would be lodged in their brains forever as the truth.

Anyway, I supposed it was nice to know that if I was pregnant, it wouldn’t be met with a tide of

public disapproval.

“So.” Daniel frowned at me curiously. “Tell me about what happened to your ringtones.”

***

He brought home two more manuscripts the next week, with a sour expression on his face. I almost

had to laugh, but I could tell he wasn’t amused by it.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “There are some capable writers out there. Somewhere. Right?”
“Of course,” I said. “But they might not be putting themselves out for hire to write a rich guy’s

biography.”

“What, are you saying they think it’s beneath them?” His expression suggested he thought this was

a completely ridiculous excuse.

“Well, for some people, you know, it’s an art form. They’re working on their…great American

novel, or whatever. They don’t necessarily want to do something, uh, commercial.”

He was looking at me like I was from a different planet.
I raised my hands, palms outward. “Look, I’m not saying it makes good business sense, but that’s

just how some people operate. They take their craft seriously.”

“And I don’t?” he shot back, opening one of the kitchen cabinets and pulling out a bag of almonds.
“I’m just saying, it’s a different perspective.” I picked up the manuscripts, skimming over them.

The top one had a few grammar irregularities, which I thought was pretty sloppy for a writing sample
meant to sell Daniel on their merits. But the other was even worse. It was completely spiritless and
disinterested. I felt like I was reading a user’s manual.

“There aren’t going to work,” I said. “There’s got to be someone else out there.”
“I liked the first one,” he protested, snatching it away from me. “Sort of. I mean, what’s wrong

with it?”

“Here,” I said, pointing to the second paragraph. “Here, he doesn’t have parallel structure. And

then down here.” I placed my finger further down the page. “The second clause of the sentence
doesn’t correctly refer back to the subject. I mean, everyone makes mistakes, sure. Absolutely. I
won’t crucify the guy over it. But this is supposed to be the way he proves himself to you. This is his
one chance to make a first impression. He should be putting more effort in, I think. But hey, that’s just
my opinion.”

Daniel was looking at me closely - frowning, almost, but not with displeasure.
“You know a lot about this sort of thing,” he said, finally.
I shrugged. “I did okay in English class.”
He slid the manuscript back over in front of him, and looked at it again. “Now that you mention it,

there is something…off about it. I never would have noticed anything specific, though.”

“Neither will most of your readers, probably.”
“Still. I don’t want to put out a shoddy product.” He looked up at me again. “Why don’t you do

it?”

“Do what? Interview them?” I shook my head. “No way, Mr. Thorne. Hard limit.”
He laughed. “No. I mean, write it.”
“Are you insane?” I got up, going to the sink to rinse out my glass. “I haven’t written anything since

my last college essay.”

“Well?” he said, swiveling around on the stool, his hands folded in his lap.
“Well?” I echoed. “Do I really have to list all the reasons why I don’t really think I can just…dive

into writing a book?”

“Don’t think of it that way,” he said. “Take it one chapter at a time.”
“No, you’re crazy. No way.” I dried my hands. “Get a real writer to do it.”
“What do you think the difference is between you and a ‘real writer?’” he said, in that reasonable,

calming tone that he always used when he tried to talk me into something. And it usually worked, too.

“I don’t know, a degree? Experience? A muse?”

“No,” he said. “The difference is, they decided to write. You know, F. Scott Fitzgerald never even

finished college.”

“I know that, but he also lived a life of complete dissolution and married a crazy person.” I

hesitated, stopping to turn and smile at Daniel. “I was going to say he didn’t make a very good role
model, but actually…”

Daniel’s expression didn’t change, but the middle finger of his right hand very briefly flicked up

above the rest.

I giggled, coming over to ruffle his hair and drape my arm over his neck. “Okay, so that was a low

blow. I’m sorry. But I’m not writing your biography. It deserves someone who knows what they’re
doing.”

“You’re looking at this all wrong,” he insisted, shrugging me off. “You know me better than

anyone. That’s the most important thing.”

But I hardly know you at all.
No, that wasn’t true. I knew Daniel, after all this time. I knew him well enough to love him. But

there were so many things I didn’t know about him, still.

And that’s when it hit me.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it, but I won’t like it.”
“Well, that was a fast turnaround.” Daniel got up and came over to where I was standing. He

wrapped his arm around my waist. “Thank you. I was dreading the idea of more interviews, and more
manuscripts to read. It’s starting to feel like homework.”

“God forbid,” I said. I didn’t know exactly what experiences Daniel had in school that left him

with such a bad taste in his mouth, but anything even remotely approaching school work practically
gave him hives. Well - I’d find out the details soon enough.

Oh, God. What had I gotten myself into?

***

The next morning was Saturday, so naturally, Daniel was sitting in the living room with a huge

notebook and one of his ridiculously fancy fountain pens - I swore it was called something like
Montblanc Meisterstruck - before I’d even finished my first cup of coffee.

“Ready to get started?” he said, brightly, as I shuffled out and sank into an armchair.
“Not really,” I said. “Do I have a choice?”
He pushed the notebook in my direction. “I got this for you, unless you’d rather type your notes.

We’ll record everything, obviously, but if there’s anything in particular you wanted to highlight.” I
looked down and noticed a little digital recorder running on the table.

“This is fine,” I said. “How many notes do you think I’ll need to take?”
He shrugged. “Should we go in chronological order?”
“Sure, fine.”
I yawned. He was looking at me expectantly.
“What?” I said, finally. “Go on. Get started.”
“You’re supposed to ask me questions,” he said.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I set my mug down on the table. “See, I told you I wasn’t qualified

to do this. How the hell am I supposed to know what questions to ask you?”

He shrugged. “Most of them started by asking me about my earliest memory.”
“All right, so, fine. Tell me about your earliest memory.” I uncapped the pen and waited.

He took a deep breath. “It was a long time ago,” he said, finally, after a pause.
“Well, I should certainly hope so.”
I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. I sat there for a while, mindlessly chewing on the

end of the pen. The fact that he didn’t notice - and demand that I stop - spoke volumes.

Finally, I noticed that the tips of his ears were tinged slightly pink.
“Are you embarrassed?” I blurted out, laughing as I spoke.
He looked at me balefully.
“Come on,” I said. “You volunteered the question, you don’t get to weasel your way out of it.”
He drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”
“Oh my God.” I leaned forward in my chair. “Now I have to know. You realize that, right? There’s

absolutely no turning back.”

“I’d rather not,” he said, looking so uncomfortable that I was beginning to feel positively gleeful.
I grinned at him for a while, tapping the pen against my teeth. His eyes silently begged, but I

wasn’t giving an inch.

“It can’t possibly be that bad,” I said.
“It’s not,” he replied, quickly. “It’s not. That’s why I brought it up; I didn’t have any trouble telling

anyone else.”

“Just me.”
“Just you,” he agreed.
“Well, don’t I feel special.”
A few more moments of silence passed.
“I was…I don’t know how old,” he said, and it took me a moment to realize he was actually

coming up with an answer. “I know I was hardly tall enough to see out of the window in the living
room. This was in - you know, our first place. When I was a kid.”

“The trailer,” I supplied. Lindsey had told me, but this was the first time it had come up in

conversation.

“As you say.” He cleared his throat. “We could see into the neighbor’s bedroom window, very

clearly. I remember - thinking back - I remember - every once in a while, my mother or my father
would go over there and yell at them to close the god damn blinds but it never happened. If either of
them caught me looking, they’d…” he stopped, and frowned. “They wouldn’t be too happy about it.
But this time, I suppose they didn’t. Because I just remember standing there for what felt like ages,
with my fingers up on the sill.

“She was very tall, the woman next door. Very tall, and very…statuesque, I guess, is what you’d

say. Anyway.”

He took a deep breath.
“She, you know, she undressed. As one does. But it was the first time I ever saw anything like that.

And I remember it so clearly. Like it was yesterday.”

“Fascinating,” I said. “I don’t know if it’ll really fit the tone of your biography, but…fascinating.”
He folded his arms across his chair, leaning back on the sofa. “I don’t know why I didn’t want to

tell you.”

“You’re embarrassed,” I said. “But you shouldn’t be.”

***

Excerpted from Daniel Thorne: A Life

Daniel Thorne will be the first to tell you that no good idea comes without a price.
It would come as a surprise to most people that the man who has consistently created some of the

world’s most cutting-edge, technologically advanced handheld devices spent the first ten years of his
life without so much as a video cassette recorder. Sitting in the living room of his parents’ trailer,
eyes glued to the thirteen inch TV set with the rabbit ears on top, Daniel did something that many
other children in his situation did: he dreamed of something better.

But in his particular case, those dreams turned into a multi-national corporation whose devices

became household names. It’s reasonable enough to wonder: what is it, exactly, that sets him apart
from the crowd?

I first met Daniel when he was poised on the brink of world fame. At the time, he struck me as

stern and quiet. Somewhat aloof. I assumed he was like all great men: self-obsessed, convinced of his
own greatness, and used to getting his way. The fact that he rarely spoke to his subordinates seemed
to support my ideas about him.

The truth of Daniel Thorne is somewhat different. Those who’ve had the privilege to speak to him

at any length will tell you the same story; he is often surprisingly humble and self-effacing, and in
general, he dislikes talking about his own accomplishments. When he avoids interactions with others,
it’s not out of some sense of superiority. It’s simply because he is shy.

At times, he makes it difficult to talk to him. Sometimes he will try to circumvent the facts, but he

hates dishonesty, and so you will find yourself poking and prodding, asking and re-phrasing the same
questions over and over again.

But when a smile is coaxed out of him, it makes the whole experience worthwhile.
When it was suggested to Daniel that now was the time to get an autobiography written, he was

charmed by the idea. But once the process began, he started to realize what the trade-off was. If he
wanted people to know his story, he would actually have to tell it. Warts, skeletons and all.

As always, no good idea comes without a price.
It was, of course, a delicate proposition. Daniel would need someone with whom he felt

comfortable, which is no small feat for a man like him. They would need to be able to capture, not
just his stories, but the essence of him. It’s been said that no human being can really fit into a book,
but he needed someone who would at least try.

The search was grueling. I looked at manuscript after manuscript, because he didn’t feel qualified

to make such an important decision on his own. But ultimately, our search led us right back to our
own living room.

When Daniel first asked me to write his biography, I balked. I’m not a writer, I told him. I’m not

qualified. But he thought all my excuses were nonsense, and finally, I came to recognize the task for
what it was: an opportunity to learn about my husband.

Daniel Thorne is an intensely private man. So private, in fact, that writing his biography at all

seems absurd. He’s so withdrawn that most of what I’ve written here, in this book, was news to me
just as it will be news to you. When it came time for publication, I thought for certain he would balk. I
expected him to think twice about allowing everything he’d told me to become public knowledge. But
he never said a word.

Because, after all, no good idea comes without a price.

Three

“Maddy, how are you?”
I turned around, slowly. My yoga teacher rarely said more than few words to me personally; she

was a busy woman with a lot of students, and that was absolutely fine with me. So why on earth was
she suddenly making a point of talking to me?

“Fine,” I said, cautiously, rolling up my mat. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I just…” she was eyeballing my midriff. Oh, God. Please no please no please no. “I just

thought - I have pregnant yoga class too, you know. If you’re interested.”

My mortification must have been written across my face, because she immediately stepped

backwards, raising her hands a little. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t say anything. But it’s just - not all
of the poses we do in here might be the best thing for you, if you’re…” She shook her head. “I’m
sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Do I look pregnant?” I realized I was putting her into an impossible position, but she had violated

the cardinal etiquette rule about assuming pregnancy - tabloid or no tabloid.

“Well - no. I mean -” Her eyes were very big. “Of course not. I just thought - I read that…”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, flatly, shoving everything into my bag and heading for the door. I

was so consumed with my irritation that I almost collided with someone as I came out of the door and
went around the corner.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I exclaimed, as the other person jumped out of the way just in time. As I looked

up, I realized that it was Genevieve Winters.

“Hello,” she said, smiling a little hesitantly. “How’ve you been?
Genevieve was one of the only journalists who’d been kind to us during Daniel’s insider trading

scandal; in fact, my current success as an artist could be mostly attributed to the fact that she featured
a picture of one of my sketches in an article she wrote. But due to her obvious crush on my husband,
relations between us were slightly strained.

“Fine, thanks,” I said, re-adjusting my bag on my shoulder. “Why are you stalking me at yoga?”
“Stalking is a strong term,” she said, still smiling. “Is there somewhere we can go and talk?”
We ended up at a hole in the wall deli a few blocks away, sitting in front of some “world famous

chicken salad sandwiches” so we wouldn’t get odd looks for sitting down without ordering anything.

“I hesitate to even bring this up,” she said. “Because it could just be some lone crazy. But, I

thought it merited someone’s attention. And Daniel…” She took in a deep breath through her nose.
“Well, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you what happened.”

“Please do,” I said. I took a bite of the sandwich, because it was something to do. Damn, the

chicken salad was pretty good.

Gen interlaced her fingers and started to talk.
“A few weeks ago, right after that ridiculous ‘baby bump’ story broke, I got an anonymous email

asking if I knew whether or not it was true. I have no idea how the person got my email address,
unless they just guessed at it. That’s the downside to corporate email accounts, they all have the same
structure. I get some weird ones occasionally. This one included. I had no idea why he thought I
would know that, and I told him so. He responded that he’d seen my name on the byline of that ‘very
nice’ feature from back during the insider trading thing, and he thought I might have some kind of
contact with you and Daniel. I said that I didn’t really, but that as far as I knew, you weren’t
pregnant.”

“I’m not, by the way,” I said, around a mouthful of chicken.
“I figured.” She smiled, briefly. “Mind you, all of this happened in the space of a few hours. When

a few more days passed and he never responded, I assumed he was just some wannabe stalker or
something. I kept them on file in case anything came up down the line, but with things like this…you
know, you just tend to forget about every little lone odd thing that happens, right?”

I nodded. I had no idea where this was going, but I was beginning to feel a distinct sense of unease

about the whole thing. I set my sandwich down, half-eaten.

“Sure, go on,” I said, finally, when it seemed like she was hesitant to continue.
“I will,” she said. “I’m sorry. It’s just…it’s just that it’s so weird, and you’re going to think I’m

completely insane for even entertaining the idea.”

“Just spill, for Pete’s sake.”
She took another deep breath. “That’s when everything started to get very odd.”
After another moment of silence, she absently picked a rosemary leaf out of her bread, twirled it

around in her fingers, and then finally began to speak again.

“He sent another one, asking how well I knew Daniel. I told him that professional courtesy

prevented my going into details about my sources and the people I feature, and his next request was
that I put him directly in touch with Daniel. I told him that I absolutely couldn’t do that, but if he had
something to tell him, I could certainly do my best to pass the message along.

“At this point I figured I was going to get some kind of insane diatribe about Area 51 or something,

but instead, he just repeated his plea to be put directly in touch with Daniel, saying that the subject he
wanted to discuss with him was ‘private and important.’ He told me that he understood it was
unorthodox, and that I had absolutely no reason to trust that he wasn’t a crazy stalker or someone who
wanted to otherwise harass Daniel, but that I ‘just had to trust that he wasn’t.’ He wouldn’t respond to
repeated requests for further clarification, and eventually, I told him that I absolutely couldn’t help
him unless he told me exactly who he was, and why he needed to talk to Daniel.

“He was silent for a few hours, then responded, saying he wanted to speak over the phone. I have

a few throwaway Skype numbers that I use for things like that, when I don’t want someone to actually
be able to contact me after the fact, so I agreed.

“The voice wasn’t what I had imagined, at all. He sounded older, and very tired, and very sad. He

told me that he’d once known Daniel personally, and that he wanted more than anything to ‘reconcile’
with him. When I asked him what he’d done that he needed to ‘reconcile’ about, he told me that he’d
once disappeared out of Daniel’s life, a few years ago. He wanted to get to know him again. He

wanted to get to know you. He wanted to ‘make things right.’”

I felt like my heart was resting on the bottom of my stomach.
“I told him I would do my best to explain the situation and see if Daniel would be interested in

talking to him,” said Gen, softly. “But now you see…it’s insane, isn’t it? But all the pieces fit
together. Daniel told me about what happened to his father - or about what he thinks happened to his
father, and I know if I came to him with this, he’d just reject it out of hand. But I thought you might…”
she sighed. “I don’t know what I thought, exactly. It could just as easily be a horrible prank or a ploy
or something, but he hasn’t actually made any claims about his identity. I’m just putting the pieces
together, as improbable as the outcome is.”

“Is it even possible?” I said, without thinking. I had no idea how Daniel’s father had actually died.

The conversation simply hadn’t come up.

“It is,” said Gen. “It’s possible. Mr. Thorne was supposed to have drowned, on a fishing trip. In

the ocean, no less. It’s almost too convenient. They never found a body.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”
“I couldn’t either,” said Gen. “But I just can’t shake this feeling that it’s important. I had to tell

someone. And something told me you’d be a little more receptive to it, and could maybe pass it along
if you think it’s worthwhile.”

“Sure,” I said, faintly. “Thanks for…all of that.”
I spent a long time sitting there after Gen left, just lost in thought. There was so much about this

scenario that I didn’t know, or understand. Daniel’s father had died, or rather disappeared, just a few
years after Daniel graduated college. At that point Daniel had already sold a few patents, and he and
Lindsey were essentially supporting Mr. Thorne. He’d won the jackpot at a local casino during a fit
of depression after his wife passed away, but he spent all of the money on college tuition for his kids.

What little I knew about old Mr. Thorne’s personality indicated he was a misanthrope, intensely

difficult to be around, but completely without malice. He only ever wanted the best for Daniel and
Lindsey; the problem was that he wanted to define their “best” for them. Once he became what he saw
as “a burden” to them, maybe he just couldn’t take it anymore - maybe all he could think to do was
quietly fade away, and become a ghost.

But now - maybe - he was back.
I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do.

***

I had the perfect opportunity, of course, to bring up the subject without it seeming out of place. I

almost didn’t, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Describe your father in three words.”
Daniel looked up at me, slowly. We’d just sat down to another biography-note-taking session, and

I don’t think he expected me to be so direct.

“Right down to business,” he said, at last, quietly.
“Take your time.” I smiled, encouragingly. I was pretty sure that I wasn’t letting any of the

craziness swirling inside my head show.

He tapped his index finger against his upper lip for a while, in silence.
“Sad,” he said, at last. “Sad. Arrogant. Stubborn.”
“Why do you say ‘sad?’” I was writing gibberish on the paper.
He exhaled. “Even before my mother…got so sick, before she passed away, he was never happy.

You could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t faithful to her either, and that tore him up after she was dead -
she never found out, as far as I know. But he hated himself for doing it, and I think part of the reason

why he hated himself so much was that he had no real reason for doing it. She wasn’t cruel, or
neglectful, or withholding. But he couldn’t make himself love her. And he went everywhere he could,
to find something that would make him feel all right.”

“Why do you say he didn’t love her?”
Daniel shrugged. “He might have said something along those lines once. I don’t remember.”
I could feel my brows knitting of their own accord. “Your father told you that he didn’t love your

mother?”

“You make it sound so horrible.” He shifted in his chair. “I think one night he drank too much and

he might have said something. About how he only stayed around for us kids. Something along those
lines. Not that he particularly liked us, I don’t think, but he was legally obligated to love us.”

He smiled, but there wasn’t any humor behind it.
I considered my next move carefully. “Do you think he regretted it?”
Daniel ran his fingers through his hair. “If he did, he never made any attempt to apologize to us. He

never tried to make it right.”

I hesitated for a moment. “Would you say that you and your father have different personalities?”
He smiled faintly. “I see what you’re driving at.”
Well, I seriously doubt that.
“Subtlety is a fine art,” he went on. “But not one you’ve ever quite mastered.”
“I don’t really think I’d describe you as ‘arrogant,’ I said. “Well - maybe. Sometimes. But sad?

Stubborn? It was like you were looking in a mirror.”

“I don’t pretend that my father’s attitude and personality didn’t shape who I am today,” he said.

“But we’re not the same. For one, I’m capable of understanding that people might have divergent
points of view, and the ones who see things differently than I do aren’t automatically ‘wrong.’ And
more than that, I think in larger terms than he was ever capable of.”

“Sometimes people get in a rut,” I said.
“I won’t argue that,” he replied. “But a twenty-year rut is at least worth examining, don’t you

think? He never seemed to even think about the possibility of…” He stopped, looking at me. “You’re
making a face.”

I shrugged, shaking my head.
“Look” he said, taking a distinctly patronizing tone that I didn’t like at all. “I know he stayed

because he cared. I know he spent all that money on college for me and Lindsey so we’d have a better
life. But if I sat you down and tried to tell you about what a saint your father was despite the way he
treats you, you’d get defensive. It’s a natural reaction. I don’t know what you want me to do, or say. I
love my father, and I miss him, but he was nothing but a source of stress and anxiety for me. I won’t
say I’m glad he’s gone. But every time I make a decision, I hear his voice in my head telling me I’m
going to fail. I know I don’t have to tell you what that feels like.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to…” I was inwardly kicking myself. This whole conversation

had gone way off track.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Really. Don’t worry about it.”
Perhaps it was better to just be honest with him. But how on earth would I broach the subject? Gen

was right - he’d reject the idea out of hand if it was presented to him as “some guy who might be your
dad is trying to get in touch with you.” After all, his father was dead. Whether he was really dead or
not didn’t seem to matter. He was dead to Daniel.

I couldn’t blame him, really. I did know what it was like, and I understood the strange paradox of

both loving your parents, and wishing they’d never speak to you again. Daniel’s father being gone -

permanently - was simply the best thing for his mental health.

Then again, was it?
Every time I make a decision, I hear his voice in my head telling me I’m going to fail.
If this man was indeed his father, and if they could somehow reconcile…
These were awfully lofty thoughts, considering I didn’t even know the reality of the situation yet. I

forced myself to come back down to earth.

“I understand you just want to get something interesting for the book,” Daniel was saying. “And

you don’t want me to come across as a cold-hearted psychopath who doesn’t appreciate his own
father. You can make something up, if it suits. Say I looked misty-eyed when I was talking about him.”
He was smiling again.

“I’m sure people will understand,” I said. “I could also just avoid the topic entirely, if you want.”
“That might look odd.”
“Well, yeah.” I tucked the pen behind my ear. “It might.”

***

Excerpted from Daniel Thorne: A Life.

Christmas in the Thorne household was, in Daniel’s words, “surprisingly lavish.” Although it

seemed the monthly bills would just keep piling up during the rest of the year, the holiday season
always seemed like a small respite from all of it. There were fresh-baked gingerbread and sugar
cookies, spiced cider, and even a tiny tree crammed into the corner of the their seven-foot-wide
living room. Daniel remembers, with a smile on his face, sitting on his dad’s shoulders to pull the box
of decorations down from the loft storage, and spending a whole day with his sister, decking out
every corner of their home in tinsel and snowflakes.

One year, which Daniel places in time solely by “before my mother got sick,” all he wanted was a

remote control car. His father grumbled, insisting they didn’t even have enough floor space for him to
drive it around, insisting again and again that it was a silly, useless gift and that he wouldn’t waste his
money on it. Rather than begging or crying, he diplomatically offered to forfeit his next few birthdays
and Christmases if he could have what he wanted. But his father was firm, and his mother just shook
her head while she pressed her palm down on the cookie cutters.

“I’m sorry, Danny. If Dad says no, the answer is no.”
Daniel recalls this being a common refrain. But his father’s whims were capricious; if he was

caught in a good mood he might just as easily relent. At such a young age, he hadn’t yet learned to
read his father’s moods and pick the best times to approach him with requests. Or, as Mr. Thorne
would be more likely to describe them, “demands.”

On Christmas morning, Daniel was, of course, holding out hope. He didn’t believe in Santa - his

father didn’t go in for that sort of thing - but a small part of him still thought maybe, somehow, there
was a chance.

After opening endless packages of socks, sweaters, and underwear, he was beginning to feel that

true sense of disappointment seeping in. Halfway through the gift opening, Daniel’s mother took a tray
of sticky cinnamon buns out of the oven, but not even their sweet allure could pull Daniel away from
his presents. He insisted on tearing into them all, one by one, until nothing was left.

There was no car.
Other boys his age might have thrown a tantrum, or cried on the kitchen floor while the rest of the

family ate their breakfast in awkward silence. But instead, he lifted his chin high, thanked his parents
for the gifts, and sat down to his plate of cinnamon rolls and glass of frosty milk without so much as a

tear.

Later, after all the gifts had been put away, Daniel flopped down on his bed, having resigned

himself to the idea that this was going to be a disappointing Christmas.

And that’s when he heard the whirring of a tiny, battery-operated engine.
He saw the car first. It was the exact model he’d asked for, the exact color, with a little bow on

top. He leapt out of bed, shouting joyfully, while his mother watched from the kitchen, smiling.

His father walked into the room a moment later, grinning, with the remote control in hand.
He gave it to his son, saying, “this is for you, because you were such a good boy and you didn’t

cry.”

Daniel remembers it, word for word, to this day.

Four

Clearly, this was going to be harder than I thought.
It was odd. If I didn’t know that there was a possibility that Daniel’s father might still be out there

somewhere, I’d have absolutely no compunctions about pulling out the hypothetical question: “what
would you say to your dad if you could see him again?” But knowing what I knew, it just felt horribly
wrong. I tried, on more than one occasion - I did - but the words turned to dust in my mouth.

The problem was that there was absolutely no way to be sure. Did he really never want to see his

father again? Or was there some part of him that wanted reconciliation? There had to be, didn’t there?

At the same time, I knew better than anyone that a parental relationship can be absolutely toxic. My

own father was so set in his ways, and so firmly convinced of his wrongheaded ideas about me, that
there was seemingly no way I could communicate with him. Maybe it would be the same between
Daniel and his father. All I could do was guess. I’d never met the man.

What I knew secondhand wasn’t terribly flattering. But he’d been gone for so long. Maybe he’d

changed.

Then again, he seemed to have only come out of the woodwork because he thought I was pregnant.

If he really cared about Daniel, wouldn’t be have surfaced sooner?

And, of course, there was the distinct possibility that he was some crazy stalker and not Daniel’s

father at all. But for some reason, I had a hunch that was telling me otherwise.

I laid awake for the next few nights, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft even sounds of

Daniel’s breathing beside me. The lack of sleep wasn’t helping my day-to-day exhaustion, but I just
couldn’t switch my brain off. There were too many hypotheticals to run through, too many
possibilities, too many potential choices. I had to try and think through all the possible consequences
of each one, because if I didn’t…

Well, I didn’t know. And that was what scared me.

***

We’d fallen into a routine. On days when Daniel had to work, after he came home, we’d eat

dinner, and then retire to the living room and talk about his past. I took notes when he said something
particularly poignant, but for the most part, I was confident I could remember it. I was hanging on
every word. There were so many things about him that I still didn’t know or understand, and every

story he told was bringing me closer to knowing him in the way I’d always wanted to. Oddly enough,
even when he was talking endlessly about his father, I found it was easier to forget about my current
dilemma during these times.

It had only been a few days since Gen had followed me to my yoga class, but I was already feeling

the responsibility weighing down on me. After rinsing the dishes and wiping down the counter, I
dutifully went to the armchair with my notebook, looking forward for a few hours’ respite.

But Daniel, instead of going to his usual spot on the sofa, came over and stood beside my chair,

looking down at the notebook in my lap. “That’s not very many notes,” he said, softly.

“I’ll remember everything,” I said, looking up at him. There was a familiar glint in his eyes.
“Tonight,” he said, “I thought we could take a break.”
After all this time, my heart still thudded a little harder at the implication.
“Okay,” I said, looking up at him innocently. “What did you have in mind?”
He looked at me for a long time, as if this were the most difficult decision he’d ever made.
“Go upstairs,” he said, finally. “Kneel on the floor by my bedside table. Wait for me.”
I stood and walked up the stairs, slowly, not looking back. He loved making me wait. At first I’d

found it annoying and frustrating, but once I’d finally given into his demands - which seemed
ridiculous at first - I started to understand the point of the whole exercise.

It had taken me a long time to give myself over to it. The first few times he’d done it, I’d been

defiant. I’d read a book, or played with my phone, not really “waiting” for him at all. I thought he was
just on a power trip, and I wanted none of it.

After many, many months, I finally realized something important.
It was all about me.
All he wanted was for me to relax, and clear my mind, and think of nothing but him. Him and me,

and what we were about to do together. It was like a strange form of meditation, something to prepare
me and make me ready to really feel.

It was that way with everything that we did. If were ever forced to explain our bedroom dynamic

I’d say that he “liked to be in charge,” but that wasn’t really the whole picture. He liked the way I
responded to it. He appreciated the way I blossomed under his care, after being so long neglected by
men who didn’t understand.

Some people might think that these antics were some sort of bizarre, grotesque posturing - almost a

parody of the real-life power imbalance that would always exist between us. But I never felt that way
about it. It was something private between us, something beautiful. It had everything to do with us as
human beings and nothing to do with the fact that he was one of the richest men in the world, and that
before I met him, I was buried in student loan debt and had never even touched a five thousand dollar
fountain pen. Because in spite of all that, he didn’t own me and he never would. Never could. I think
knowing that - both of us knowing that - was part of what made the whole play-act so exciting.

It gave me the freedom to let go.
When he told me what to do, I never worried about what he’d think of me in the morning. I knew

that no matter what happened, the next morning he would just look at me and smile. There was no
judgment in his eyes. I had absolutely nothing to worry about, when I was with him.

As I knelt on the carpet, I closed my eyes and tried to clear my head. I tried to push aside

everything Gen had said to me, everything I’d been thinking and feeling, and all the worries I’d had
for the past few days. I took a deep breath, held it for as long as I could, and then let it out slowly.

One by one, I let the thoughts drift from my mind. What will I…What if…When will I…What if

he…

When they were all gone, I took another deep breath.
My mind was blank.
But deep in the void, there was just one thing left. Something ever-present. Not a thought, exactly;

it was too deeply entrenched. It wasn’t even what I would call a feeling. It just was.

It was him.
I couldn’t have possibly explained it any better than that. It wasn’t an image or a memory or a

smell or a sound. It was all of those things at the same time, and none of them. It was the way my arm
shot out in the morning when I woke up, to feel if he was still in bed with me. It was the indescribable
sadness that set in if we went days without talking after a fight. It was the curve of his smile. It was a
thousand things I couldn’t name or remember but that meant more to me than anything else in the
world.

Suddenly, I felt a stab of panic.
My breathing grew irregular. What was this? This wasn’t something that happened to me. I

clenched my fists at my sides and tried to will my heart to beat slower, but I couldn’t control it. I felt
my throat tightening, my whole body growing taut with panic and fear that I didn’t understand.

It wasn’t attached to any thought, or anything rational at all. My mind was still blank, yet it was

somehow consumed with a nameless fear. Somehow, I felt as if I were separating from myself - my
identity and my body no longer felt connected, drifting farther and farther away with each passing
moment.

Still, in the midst of the chaos, I knew I was supposed to obey. I was supposed to stay here, still,

and wait for him. I knew he wouldn’t be happy if I couldn’t fulfill such a simple request.

But at the same time, I knew this wasn’t what he intended for me. He never wanted me to be

afraid.

I opened my eyes and stood, on shaky legs that didn’t feel like my own. As I walked down the

stairs, I had the distinct sensation that I was watching someone else. I felt like my head was going to
explode.

Daniel was in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of something. I ran to him blindly, throwing my

arms around him and clinging tight. I jostled him enough that some of whatever-it-was in the glass
sloshed on me, but it still felt like it was happening to someone else.

I realized that I was sobbing.
He set the glass down with a thunk and wrapped his arms around me.
“What’s wrong?” he said, softly. But I couldn’t answer, burying my face in his chest, crying and

crying like I’d never be able to stop. Touching him had abruptly grounded me, forcing me back into an
awareness of my body. I had no idea what had just happened to me, but heart was still hammering in
my chest.

“Maddy, Maddy.” He was confused, I could tell, but he wasn’t going to pressure me. His hand

rested on the back of my head. I felt an enormous sense of relief that he wasn’t going to be upset with
me for not following his direction, even though of course I’d known that he wouldn’t be.

“What happened?” he asked, when I’d finally calmed down enough to speak.
“I don’t know,” I managed to reply. “I don’t…I was just…I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
I shook my head against his chest.
“I’m here,” he said. “You don’t have to be afraid of anything.”
It was a nice sentiment, but I was still shaking.
When I finally felt able to pull away, I saw the worry in his face and felt horrible for not being

able to better articulate what was happening. Because despite how it felt, there was nothing actually
wrong. Alone in the bedroom, I had felt like I was dying, but I now realized what a ridiculous
sensation that was.

“I’m fine,” I insisted, forcing a smile that was probably more horrific than my tears. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He frowned. “Can you tell me what happened up there?”
“I don’t know,” I said, again. “I did the same thing I normally do. I just tried to…clear my mind.

But after I did, I started to get scared and I have no idea why. I wasn’t afraid of anything. It was
just…panic. I felt like I wasn’t…” I struggled to find the words to describe the feeling, which had
only recently left me. “It felt…I couldn’t believe that I was real. Or that everything around me was
real. Or…something like that. I don’t know. It was like I was controlling a character in a video
game.”

His face changed a little. “Come here,” he said. “Come sit down.”
I followed up to the sofa, where he sat down beside me and held both of my hands in his own.

“Have you ever felt something like this before?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Why, do you know what it is?”
“They call it depersonalization,” he said, simply. “It happens quite often when you have a panic

attack.”

His calm, even tone was such a contrast to the horror I’d just experienced. I swallowed a lump in

my throat. “Have you ever had this?”

“Not in years and years. But you never forget what it feels like.” He halfway smiled, a little dryly.

“Are you sure you’ve never experienced anything like this before?”

I nodded. “Why?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, smiling more reassuringly now. “I just thought - but it’s nothing. It’s fine. I

mean, it’s not, it obviously not fine. But you’re still alive. You’re still here.”

I took a deep breath. Oddly enough, just hearing those words was helpful.
“I’ve heard of the idea of a panic attack before,” I said. “Obviously. But I never knew…I didn’t

realize it was like this.”

“Most people don’t, unless they have one.” He exhaled. “Actually, they’re so poorly understood

by most people that it took me years to understand what had been happening to me, for all that time. I
never knew. I never thought to attribute it to a phenomenon like that. I actually remember asking my
grandmother - even being so little, I still didn’t want to bring it up to my parents - I remember asking
her if she’d ever felt like she couldn’t believe she was real. But she didn’t understand what I was
asking. Most people still wouldn’t.”

“That’s awful,” I said. “You had them when you were a kid?” I couldn’t imagine.
He nodded. “Lying in bed,” he said. “Always lying in bed. It would start with the feeling that I

wasn’t real, and the panic would grow and grow. At that age I think I actually believed there was a
possibility that I’d somehow be pulled out of my body, or lose my sense of reality altogether, and that
certainly didn’t help. I used to endure it for as long as I could, then I would run down the ladder of the
bunk bed and shake Lindsey awake and make her tell me I was still real.” He smiled. “She actually
tried to complain to our parents about it once, but she often had strange dreams and night terrors, so I
think they wrote it off as more of the same.”

“That’s awful.” I was beginning to rethink how much I wanted to know about his childhood. My

heart was literally aching for him, and I didn’t know what to do with the feelings. But, at least they
were better than boundless panic.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to…anyway, are you feeling better?”

I nodded. “I guess I’m just…” I was trying to think of an explanation other than trying to figure

out whether I should tell you that your father might still be alive, but I couldn’t quite come up with
one. “…tired,” I finished, lamely.

There was a flash of something skeptical across his face, but he just smiled and squeezed my

hands. “Well, hopefully you can get some rest tonight.”

I still felt slightly shaky, but I honestly couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do than pick up right

where we left off. Just, maybe without the silent isolation that had sent me into my panic spiral. “I
hope this isn’t going to ruin your plans for the evening.”

He looked at me with an eyebrow slightly raised. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” I said, slipping my hand out from under his and resting it on his chest. “Nobody

takes care of me like you do.”

“I should certainly hope not,” he said, leaning in for a swift kiss before he broke away and stood

up. “Just give me a minute, all right?”

I nodded. “Just don’t go too far.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t leave you alone tonight.”
The promise settled in my chest; it was a warm, comforting sensation. I stayed there obediently as

I heard him run up the stairs, then quickly come down again. He approached me from behind, and I
felt something light and silky brush against my neck. Then, he lifted it up, and suddenly it was
covering my eyes.

“Is this all right?” he asked, as my vision turned to darkness.
“Yes,” I said, which surprised me. As long as I could feel the warmth of his body behind me, and

hear his voice, I didn’t mind at all.

“Tell me right away,” he said, “if you don’t feel like you can handle anything.”
“I know,” I said. We’d established that precedent long ago.
“We’re going to walk upstairs now,” he said. “I’ll guide you, but I think you know them well

enough by now to avoid stubbing your toe.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“I hope so,” I replied, archly, letting him raise me to my feet and guide me over. It was actually

harder to gauge where I was in space than I would have guessed, but once I’d begun to walk up the
stairs, it turned out he was right. I instinctively knew just how far to lift my feet for each step.

I knew when we’d reached the bedroom as well, and not just because he stopped walking. The

room had a different feel to it, in a way that I couldn’t quite explain.

“I’m going to undress you,” he said, his voice low. “But first, I’m going to ask you one last time.

Are you sure you’re up for this?”

I swallowed. “Of course I am,” I said. This was something about which I was confident: Daniel

would never give me more than I could handle. He’d never push me further than I could take.

His fingers slid under the bottom hem of my shirt, brushing against my stomach and sides. I

couldn’t help but giggle a little, flinching away from his touch instinctively.

“Oh, no,” he said, sounding very amused. “You aren’t ticklish, are you?”
“Not usually,” I said, although of course he already knew that. Something about this experience

had left my nerves heightened to the slightest touch. “You won’t take advantage of that, will you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He was grinning. I could tell. “Lift your arms above your head, darling.”
He rarely ever called me by anything but my name, so when he broke that habit, it made

goosebumps rise all over my body. I did as he asked, and I felt him lift my shirt over my head and toss
it aside somewhere. I made a slight clucking noise of disapproval.

“What?” he said, his fingers resting on the clasp of my bra. “Don’t tell me you just ironed it,

because I know as well as you do that you’re incapable of operating such a device.”

I had to laugh. It was true - all of our clothes that needed that sort of treatment got it at the dry

cleaner. My mother had put the fear of God into me as a kid about getting burned on her iron, and the
hesitancy to even go near it had stuck with me into adulthood.

“I didn’t,” I said. “But it’s still clean. I can wear it again.”
“I can’t believe you’re still thinking about something like that,” he said, nimbly undoing the hooks

and sliding my bra down my arms. “I must be doing this wrong.”

He unzipped my jeans and slid them down my legs, pulling my panties down with them.

Afterwards, he lingered there for a while. I could feel his breaths on my skin.

Finally, he stood back up, and I stepped out of the pile of fabric. I heard his footsteps retreat, and

then return. Something brushed lightly against my ribs. I giggled again, and then shivered.

“Try to relax,” he said, in a voice that was pure silk. “Prepare yourself for the feeling, and then it

won’t feel ticklish. It won’t be able to take you by surprise.”

I felt the light touches again and again, running up and down my sides, across my stomach, and up

to my chest. Drawing in a deep breath, I felt my nipples harden and pucker. A feather. It had to be a
feather.

“Stay very present,” he said. “Focus on the feeling. It can’t run away with you, if you keep it in its

place.”

Breathing deeply, I discovered, to my surprise, that he was right. If I really put my mind to it, the

tickling sensation felt much less intense than what I expected it to.

The feather was running up and down my spine.
With my vision blacked out, everything else was thrown into sharp relief. I’d heard about this

phenomenon before, of course, but I’d never actually experienced it like this. My ears picked up
every breath, every little rustle, every small noise as he circled me. I felt the radiating heat of his
body, and every sharp intake of breath through my nose was filled with the familiar smell of him; that
cologne so expensive it didn’t have a name on the bottle. I had no idea when or where he bought it.
I’d never seen him bring a bottle home, but it was never absent from his side of the bathroom vanity.
Sometimes when he was away I would unscrew the cap and carefully sniff it, but it just wasn’t the
same. Something about its cool, fresh scent just wasn’t quite right unless it was mixed with the
warmth of his skin. Habitually, he smelled almost as good as he looked.

And I could picture him now. He was smiling. Sometimes, when we played like this, he would

affect being stern and he tried to hide it. But with me blindfolded, there would be no reason to. He
wouldn’t have to put any effort into pretending he didn’t practically live to see me like this, placid
and obedient and pliant for him. Standing naked in the middle of a room without shame.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he breathed, almost as if on cue. He was standing

very close behind me; when he exhaled I could feel it, hot and insistent on the back of my neck.

“Especially when I’m following orders,” I replied, dodging the question.
“No,” he said. “All the time.” He slid around so that we were face-to-face, or so I judged it.

“Well - yes, all right. Especially when you’re following orders.”

I smiled.
“What else would you like me to do?”
There was a moment of silence. I didn’t always have to prompt him like this, but there were times

when he was more hesitant than others. Considering what had just happened, I understood his
reluctance to push things too far. It occurred to me that he must feel horribly guilty for “causing” me to
have a panic attack, even though that wasn’t how I saw it at all. But it made perfect sense.

“I’m okay,” I promised him, when he didn’t respond for what felt like eons. “I’d let you know if I

wasn’t.”

Suddenly, I felt his fingers on the back of my head, fiddling with the knot on my blindfold. I opened

my eyes slowly, just as the cloth was pulled away.

“Maddy,” he said, his face drawn and anxious. “I don’t think I can do this tonight. I’m sorry.”
I felt a twinge of disappoint in my chest. “It’s okay,” I said. “I told you it would be okay.”
“But you…” he stopped, and swallowed hard. “I don’t ever want to see you like that again,” he

said, more softly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I insisted, folding my arms across my chest. I felt absolutely ridiculous

having this argument right here, right now. “I’ve done that thing, that exact thing, a thousand times
before because you told me to. And I always felt better after I did it. Not worse. This was some kind
of freak happenstance.”

“I know,” he said. “But I don’t want to risk…” He laid his hands on either side of my face, locking

his eyes with mine. He looked so worried that it almost broke my heart.

I couldn’t keep this secret forever.
“I have to tell you something,” I said, willing my voice to stay steady. “Can I just…can I put on

some clothes, first?”

Five

“It’s about your father.”
This was, perhaps, not the best way to lead up to it. He looked, by turns, confused and then

irritated.

“Go on,” he said, looking at me like he didn’t know quite what to make of me.
“You remember Genevieve?”
He nodded in the affirmative, looking at the floor.
“Well, she got in touch with me. She said she would have contacted you directly, but she was

afraid you wouldn’t be…open to the possibility. Based on previous conversations. And I can’t say I
blame her. I’ve been struggling with the same thing. How to tell you. When to tell you. What to tell
you.”

“For Christ’s sake, get to the point.”
“All right. Okay. I’m sorry. Here’s the deal. Right after that ‘baby bump’ story got out everywhere,

someone contacted her anonymously asking if it was true. And in the course of her correspondence
with him, Gen came to believe that this person was, in fact, your father.”

Daniel blinked. “You realize how ridiculous that sounds.”
“Of course I do. I’m not insane. But look. He - he all but came out and said it. He described

himself as someone that was close to you ‘a long time ago’ or something, and that he wanted to make
things right. You’re in the news at least once a month, for something - so it’s not like this was going to
be the one thing that got his attention after all these years, unless he has some kind of special
investment in the idea of you having an heir.”

He was pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can see why you hesitated to tell me,” he said.
“That’s a very diplomatic way to put it,” I replied. “But I really, really think you should at least

pursue this. Enough to put everyone’s mind at rest.”

“Everyone’s mind? What, you mean you and Genevieve?”
“You’re telling me you’re not in the least bit curious?”
“I didn’t even think you liked her,” he said, ignoring my question.
“I hardly know her,” I said. “So you’re not curious, then.”
“Of course I’m not curious. It’s someone who’s completely out of their gourd, who thought of a

particularly diabolical way of trying to get to me. Except it’s not all that clever, because there’s no

way any sane person would fall for it.”

“That’s the thing, though, isn’t it?” I said. “It’s so insane it almost has to be true.”
He looked at me sidelong. “So this is why you’ve been pushing so hard for all that information

about my father,” he said. “You wanted to see if I still had some secret hope of reconciling with him.”

“It was also interesting for the book,” I insisted. “See, this is exactly what I was afraid of. You

won’t even entertain the possibility.”

“Maddy,” he said, scooting closer to me and gently reaching out to turn my face towards his.

“Listen to me very carefully. My father is dead. That’s the reality of the situation. You’re letting your
imagination run away with you. Genevieve is a lovely woman, but in this case, so is she.”

I sighed, pulling away. “I knew you’d say something like this,” I muttered.
“Because it’s the only reasonable response,” he said. “Look. Are there…are there unanswered

questions? Of course. Would I gain something valuable by talking to him again? I mean - I might - I
could. I wouldn’t discount the possibility altogether. This isn’t about me resenting him, or anything
like that. It’s about the simple fact that he’s gone.”

“Did they ever find a body?”
He just gave me a look.
In Daniel’s defense, I couldn’t really explain why I was so invested in defending this insane

possibility. For some reason, when Gen had first explained it to me, it had seemed so credible.

“People don’t do things like that in real life,” he said, finally.
“Sure they do,” I replied. “I Googled it. They say as many as one in four Golden Gate Bridge

suicides might be fake.”

He rolled his eyes a little. “But what reason would he have to do it? His wife was gone, Lindsey

and I were supporting him - he had no responsibilities. He could have started his life over, anywhere
he wanted, with anyone he wanted. There was no need to go through some bizarre, convoluted
trickery…it just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sure, it doesn’t make sense,” I said. “But people do plenty of things that don’t make sense. From

the way you’ve talked about him, your dad doesn’t sound like the most logical guy in the world.”

“He certainly had his shortcomings, but he wasn’t a lunatic,” Daniel insisted.
“You don’t have to be a lunatic to do something irrational,” I insisted. “If he was just feeling…

very depressed, or overwhelmed…sometimes people do something desperate like this if they feel
there’s no way out of their current circumstances, but they also don’t want to turn to suicide.”

“Well, it’s good to know you’ve become an overnight expert on people faking their own deaths,”

he said. “But this is absurd.”

I felt utterly defeated. “Will you at least talk to him on the phone? Just listen to his voice? You’d

recognize it, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” said Daniel. “I wouldn’t. Because whoever that is, I don’t know them.”
And that was the end of our conversation.

***

“Now serving number THREE…SIX…TWO…at counter number FOUR.” The computerized

voice at the DMV droned at me as I sat on one of their hard wooden benches. Renewing my license
was really the last thing I wanted to spend my afternoon doing, but on those rare occasions when I did
take my own car somewhere, I really liked having the option. Besides, there was no way in hell I was
letting it lapse long enough to have to take those tests again. I shuddered at the mere thought.

“Now serving number THREE…SIX…TWO…at counter number FOUR.”

I didn’t understand this phenomenon - did people routinely take numbers at the DMV and then just

leave? I sighed, feeling a knot of frustration growing in my stomach. I couldn’t understand why, but I
almost felt…nervous.

Oh, no.
No, no, no.
Not here. Please not here.
But the fear of it coming only made it worse; I felt my heart begin to pound faster, my knuckles

going white as I clutched the bench beneath me. I had the distinct sensation that everyone in the room
was staring at me, even though I could look up and see that they weren’t.

My heart thumped faster and faster. I could feel my consciousness separating from my body,

almost a physical sensation, as if my awareness of myself was floating behind me like a shadow. I
gradually became aware that my breathing was getting heavier and heavier, and now people were
looking at me.

I stood up suddenly and ran out of the office, stumbling out onto the sidewalk. I pulled out my

phone because I didn’t know what else to do.

Daniel answered, thank God.
I could only think of one thing to say to him.
“Am I real?”

***

Daniel had left work to drive me home, so I wouldn’t have to leave my car in the stupid DMV

parking lot. He hadn’t mentioned if he was going to bother returning for the rest of the workday, but he
didn’t seem to be in any hurry.

“Are you all right?” he asked me, for the five-hundredth time, as he brought me a glass of water.
“I’m fine,” I insisted, more forcefully. “I just…”
“Maddy, please,” he said, softly. “I’m worried about you.”
I let out a long sigh. “I hate going to new doctors.”
“I know you do. But I can’t stand to see you like this. Please, at least look into it.”
Slowly, I looked up at him. “Will you do something for me, if I do?”
“Of course,” he said. “Anything.”
“Talk to your father,” I said, regretting it as soon as I’d spoken.
His face fell. I could almost see him counting to ten before he opened his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”
“You’re god damned right it isn’t fair,” he said, his jaw clenched. “When was the last time you

called your parents?”

“This isn’t about me!” I insisted. “I know exactly what they’re going to have to say if I pick up the

phone. Aren’t you curious about why he’s coming back?”

“I know exactly why he’s coming back,” Daniel insisted. “If it is indeed him, which - can I remind

you? - we don’t even know yet. He saw that you might be pregnant, and it either spurred some
ridiculous desire to try and ‘make things right’ by being a better grandfather than he was a father, or
he thought it would have softened me up enough to welcome him back into my life. After everything
that happened. After he’s apparently lied to me for all these years, letting me believe he was dead.
He’s going to come back with too-little-too-late apologies, or some kind of ridiculous excuses, and I
don’t want to hear any of them.” He stopped, his tone suddenly urgent. “You didn’t tell Lindsey, did
you?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t go to her before I went to you.” I shook my head. “But Danny,

honestly.”

He was shaking his head. “We shouldn’t even be talking about this, not while you’re…” he looked

like he was about to say fragile, but backed away from it at the last possible moment.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go to the stupid doctor.”
The thought made me grit my teeth, but he was right.

***

“Are you currently on any medication?” She glanced up at me briefly.
“No,” I said, automatically. “Well - yes, actually, but just birth control. The seasonal kind, where

you only have a period every three months. It helps my premenstrual symptoms be less severe. I wrote
it all down on the intake form.”

“I apologize if this is repetitive,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “There’s nothing written

down here for referring physician. Are you seeing someone for regular check-ups?”

“I see my gynecologist once a year.”
She looked up at me. “How long has it been since your last checkup?”
I shrugged. “A few months, I guess. Maybe longer. Why?”
Dr. Conklin cleared her throat. “Well, when you’re on continuous birth control, it’s generally

recommended that you take monthly pregnancy tests whenever you’re not scheduled to have a period.
Just to be sure. Have you been doing that?”

“No, they never told me I had to.” I bit my lip, not wanting to say it, but feeling like I had to. “Is

this about that article?”

“Article?” Dr. Conklin frowned. “I’m not sure what article you’re referring to, but given your

situation, my first recommendation would be that you take a home pregnancy test. You’re talking
about feeling fatigued and losing your appetite, and when there’s no other obvious trigger for sudden
onset panic attacks, it makes me wonder about a hormonal disruption.”

“I’m not pregnant,” I insisted. “I take my pill every night when I go to bed.”
“And do you go to bed at the same time every night?”
I felt slightly irritated. “Not always, why?”
“Theoretically, hormonal birth control is still 99.9% effective if it’s taken within the same four or

five-hour window of time every day. But with these continuous pills, the whole system is slightly less
stable. If you don’t take it at exactly the same time every night, there’s a theoretical possibility.”

I managed to stem the rising anger - or maybe it was panic - in my chest and ask her coolly, “why

didn’t they say something at the clinic?”

“I can’t possibly answer that,” said Dr. Conklin. “Maybe they did, and they simply didn’t

emphasize it enough for it to stick in your mind. If you read the documentation that comes with the
prescription…”

“Who actually reads those things?” I snapped. I was feeling completely frustrated and

overwhelmed, and though Dr. Conklin was a little on the cool side, I knew I had no right to take it all
out on her. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes for a moment, then re-opened them. The doctor
was still looking at me dispassionately.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just frustrated. I had no idea about any of that.”
“Many women don’t,” she said. “That’s why I advocate patients educating themselves as much as

possible.”

I tried to ignore the subtle dig. “Well, now I know. I guess I’ll go take that test.”
“If it comes back negative, please do make another appointment. I’ll be happy to explore some

treatment options for your anxiety and your fatigue, once I’m sure it’s not putting a pregnancy at risk.”

“Sure,” I said, forcing a smile as I stood up and left her office.
Once the cool air outside hit my face, I took a deep breath and relaxed a little. I told myself it was

highly, highly unlikely. Point-oh-one percent unlikely, to be exact. I was pretty sure that was even less
likely than being struck by lightning. But still, when I went into the drugstore and bought the thing, I
couldn’t stop my heart from jumping into my throat. I filled up my basket with random bags of candy,
sunglasses, and nail polish, burying the test under a pile of junk, just in case. I didn’t think I could
handle another pregnancy speculation article, especially now that it might be…

No, no, I couldn’t think like that yet. I didn’t know.
My stomach was fluttering the whole way home. Those few minutes, pacing the bathroom with the

little stick balanced on the edge of the sink, were the longest of my life.

I’d gotten the fancy digital kind, so there would be no squinting at half-formed lines and trying to

interpret them like hieroglyphs. But the little hourglass on the display screen seemed to be silently
mocking me.

I forced myself to close my eyes for the last few seconds.
Looking won’t make it happen any sooner.
I waited a few extra seconds, just to be sure.

Pregnant.

***

“Home tests are usually quite accurate,” the nurse practitioner was saying. “More accurate than

people think. But you did the right thing by coming in. We always confirm with a blood test to be
absolutely sure.”

I nodded. There was a slight ringing in my ears. “Thank you for fitting me in at the last minute,” I

heard myself say, for the fiftieth time.

The nurse smiled. “It’s no problem. We get a lot of cancellations and no-shows this time of year.”
“Well, that’s not very considerate of people,” I said, swallowing thickly.
“Hey, you know, folks are trying to get their kids off to school…they get busier than they expected,

I get it,” the nurse said, reasonably. “You’re going to feel a little pinch.”

I barely noticed it.
“The results should be back in one to three days, depending on how busy the lab is. We’ll call you

as soon as we know. Is it okay to leave a message with the results?”

“Yeah, sure.” I didn’t want to risk missing the call and having to wait a whole night - or, worse, a

whole weekend. “Please do. I’d rather know.”

“Of course.” The nurse taped a tuft of cotton on the pinprick and patted my arm gently. “Okay,

you’re all set. Just see the front desk to check out. Don’t forget to get your parking validated.”

***

I spent the rest of the day like a zombie, sitting on the sofa and staring at the TV without any sense

of what I was watching. When Daniel came home, I forced a smile and went over to greet him. To this
day, I still have no idea how I mustered it.

He kissed me, then pulled back in concern, no doubt seeing the tired, blank expression on my face

no matter how I tried to hide it.

“Did you go to the doctor?”

I nodded. “Just waiting for some tests to come back.”
Seeming to sense that I didn’t want to go into any more details, he set down his briefcase and hung

up his coat. “All right, well. I’m glad you went. I hope it wasn’t as bad as you thought it might be.”

I shrugged. “She didn’t have the greatest bedside manner, but she gave me some stuff to think

about.”

“Well, good.” He smiled a smile that meant I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m going to be

encouraging anyway. “I’m sure she’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

I could tell that he noticed the bandage on my arm. His eyes kept flicking towards it, but he wasn’t

going to bring it up unless I did. I had absolutely no idea if there were any blood tests that would
normally be indicated for panic attacks, but I’d never heard of such a thing. The same thoughts were
probably running through his head, but he knew better than to push.

Aside from clearly being worried about me, though, I couldn’t really detect anything under the

surface. If he was thinking about his father at all, he was hiding it exceedingly well. Despite what
casual acquaintances might say, Daniel was simply not good at hiding his feelings. Not once you
knew all his tells.

It was puzzling, for sure. I couldn’t imagine being in his situation and just being able to…push it

aside, seemingly. To forget that his long-lost father was just out there somewhere, wanting to talk to
him. Even if I felt vindictive towards him, even if I’d spent the last however many years of my life
thinking I’d be happy to never see him again, I’d be too curious to ignore him. Why on earth would he
fake his own death? Why would he hide?

For a moment, wondering about old Mr. Thorne almost made me forget that I might be…
Ugh.
The feelings of raw panic at the thought had subsided, and now I just felt…annoyed, more than

anything. I had overdosed on information while John drove me home, scrolling through pages and
pages of results for “false positive home pregnancy test” while he inched his way through the traffic.
There wasn’t much good news to be had. False positives were rare, especially nowadays. Of course,
I’d had to buy the most fancy, state-of-the-art test there was. If I’d gone for the discount rack, at least I
could have told myself that there was more of a chance.

Somehow, I must have fried my brain’s worrying circuits, because the thoughts finally just

stopped. There was no point in fretting about it until I knew for sure.

Then, after dinner, Daniel ruined everything.
He fixed me with a penetrating gaze - I’d been sort of avoiding direct eye contact all evening, but

once I was pulled in, it was like a tractor beam. I couldn’t look away.

“Do you want to talk about what happened at the doctor’s?”
I immediately started crying.
The instant sense of shame only made it worse. He came over to me quickly, wrapping his arm

around me and stroking my hair until I caught my breath and was able to answer him.

“She started asking me all these questions about my birth control…I guess…” I stopped, but found

myself unable to look up at him for a reaction. “I guess I was supposed to be taking monthly
pregnancy tests to make sure…because I don’t…”

“Yes?” said Daniel, when I didn’t continue, his voice remarkably calm and steady. “Because you

don’t menstruate every month. That makes sense.”

I found myself letting out a strange guffaw of laughter at his vocabulary choice. “Well, I haven’t

been. I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.”

“Yeah, except, I don’t.”
He seemed frozen for a moment. Then, he looked down at the bandage on my arm, and back up to

my face. His eyes were like saucers.

The waterworks started again. I nodded, unable to muster any more words for the moment.

“Yeah,” I managed, finally. “So I won’t know for sure until it comes back…but they say the home
tests…false positives are pretty…”

He just kept staring at me. More tears gathered in my eyes, but I was able to finally hold them back

a little.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know. I guess you have to take the pills at the exact same time every

day, if you want to be one hundred percent sure. I haven’t been as careful as I could have been. I just
didn’t realize. I thought I knew, but I didn’t.”

“Maddy,” he said, suddenly, sharply, his voice very loud. “Stop.”
I sniffled, and took a deep breath.
“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said, leaning down so that our faces were level. “Did you think I’d

be upset?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Are you?”
“Of course not!” Despite his words, he looked slightly like a cornered animal, but I decided to

take him at face value. “I’m just surprised. That’s all.”

“I was surprised too,” I said. “I know we didn’t…”
“Maddy,” he said, as my eyes started to drift away from his face. “Maddy. Look at me.”
I swallowed hard, and did.
“Do you want this?” he asked, with a flicker of some emotion in his eyes that I couldn’t read.
I bit my lip. I hadn’t even allowed myself to ask that question yet, but the answer was incredibly

clear to me now, for the first time.

I nodded.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Of course I do.”
Of course.
He smiled, a little hesitantly. “You’re not just saying that?”
“Why would I? You don’t even want kids.”
“Maddy. Sweetheart. This isn’t just about me right now.”
“But it’s about you a little.” I sniffled. “A lot, actually.”
He thought for a moment, in silence, before responding. “I didn’t plan for this,” he said, finally.
I gave him a no shit look, and he smiled.
“I didn’t plan for this,” he repeated. “And I don’t think you did either. But it can be…we can do it.

I’m sure we can.”

“We can be better than your parents, or mine,” I said. “I don’t have any doubts about that.”
“Of course,” he said, his smile growing a little more genuine. “To be honest, ever since that

charity dinner…the idea’s been in my head, you know, I couldn’t shake it. But I didn’t want to say
anything. Because I knew it was something you…and, I mean, at any rate, you’re the one who has to
become a human incubator for nine months.” He paused, seeing the look of chagrin on my face.
“Sorry. Not the best time to bring that up.”

“Your terminology could use a little work,” I replied, smiling and wiping my eyes. “But I’ll give

you some credit for not referring to it as a ‘parasite.’”

“Thank God, that was my second choice.” He hesitated for a moment, then straightened up and

pulled me against him, tightly. “I love you, Madeline.”

“I love you too,” I said, muffled against him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away.”
“For the love of God. Stop apologizing.” He laughed, pulling away. “Do you want to tell anyone?”
I shook my head. “Not right away. You’re supposed to wait. Right?”
“I suppose so,” he said, laughing a little. “I have no idea.”
Neither one of us knew what on earth we were doing. For some reason, that thought didn’t scare

me as much as it ought to have.

Six

As expected, the blood test also came back positive. By that point I’d gotten myself so used to the

idea that I hardly reacted. I just kept nodding into the phone, not realizing that I was failing to
verbalize anything until the nurse said “Mrs. Thorne, are you there?”

She ended the phone call with “congratulations,” which sounded pretty heartfelt. I thanked her, and

hung up. I’d already spent the better part of the last two days mainlining all the information I could
possibly handle, and then some: what was normal to expect at each stage of pregnancy? Formula or
breastfeeding? Cloth diapering or disposable? And of course, the most hotly debated topic of all: to
circumcise, or not?

Me personally, I just hoped I’d never have a boy so I could avoid the issue entirely.
My head was already overflowing with the number of things that could go wrong - and the number

of things that were going to be nearly unbearable, even if they went right. I knew Daniel was going to
take care of me, but I still felt strangely frightened and alone.

But after a while, I just gave up worrying.
I don’t know if I’d just exhausted my brain, but after a while I just sort of fell into a calm

acceptance. I gathered up wine bottles out of the cabinets and bagged them up. I could always save
them for later, but between the nine-plus months of pregnancy and however long I wanted to
breastfeed, if I decided to, it made just as much sense to pass them along to someone else who might
appreciate them. I was sure Lindsey would take them, if she’d be in town anytime soon. She usually
visited whenever she had a meeting in the city.

Of course I couldn’t really give them to her unless I’d already decided to tell her I was pregnant. It

wasn’t like I would just give up wine of my own accord.

“Do you think Lindsey would believe me if I told her I was giving up wine to lose weight?” I

asked Daniel as he walked into the room.

He eyed me for a moment. “No,” he said, finally, heading for the fridge.
“I’m not sure if that’s meant to be ‘no, because you look beautiful just the way you are’ or ‘no,

because you’re a raging alcoholic,’ so I won’t say thank you,” I replied. “But I really want to get this
wine out of the house.”

“She’s going to assume you’re pregnant no matter what you say,” he pointed out, taking a swig

from a bottle of water after he spoke. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “But, by all means, give her

the wine next time she’s up. She’ll be thrilled. But there’s no way she’s going to believe for a second
that you’re not pregnant.”

Thankfully, he seemed to know better than to try and suggest that I throw the wine away. What a

mortifying idea. What a waste of perfectly good wine.

“Actually, we might be at the twelve-week mark by the time she’s back in town,” I said. “I’ll

probably just tell her then.”

Daniel just shrugged.
It was odd, how well we’d seemed to settle into the idea of having a child. In a way I supposed it

didn’t yet seem quite real, so we were able to dance around the idea lightly, taking each new
challenge as it came. Although admittedly, so far the biggest challenge had been figuring out what to
do with all the wine.

My phone started buzzing in my pocket. Suddenly, I realized just how much of a challenge it was

going to be to talk to anyone for the next six weeks or so. “Hi, how are you? Oh, good, I’m just, you
know, PREGNANT.”

I glanced at the number. It was Curtis, the gallery owner who’d first given me a chance on some of

my drawings. I practically had to physically stop myself from leading with the exciting news.

“Hey, how are you?” he said, sounding tired.
“I’m fine,” I managed to say. “Haven’t heard from you in a while.”
“I know,” he said. He sounded like he was pulling out a chair and sitting down. “Actually, I

wanted to talk to you about that.”

I frowned. “Yeah? What’s going on?”
He let out a long, deep sigh. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the last couple shows didn’t really bring in

much business.”

“I’m not going to lie,” I replied. “But, I figured that was just a result of my waning stardom.”
I could hear him smiling. “Well, maybe. It sure would be nice to have something to blame other

than just pure inevitability. But that’s how it is. If you ask an economist they’ll tell you the recession
is over, but it sure doesn’t look like that from my end of things.”

“Uh oh.” I sat down.
“Uh oh is right.” He cleared his throat. “I just got my lease renewal in the mail. I know this

neighborhood’s been getting more and more industrial and business-oriented, and my landlord’s been
wanting to be able to fill it up with something a little more lucrative - an anchor to bring in more
traffic to the other buildings he owns on this block. The more business they do, the more rent he can
get away with charging. He’s been jacking up my rent for ages, hoping I won’t be able to pay. But
I’ve always found a way to. But this - he knows I can’t afford this.”

“Let me help you,” I said, almost without thinking. “I mean - a loan or a grant or something.

Whatever people do in these situations.”

“You’re sweet,” said Curtis. “But I don’t want to put the gallery on life support. It just can’t keep

itself going anymore. In a way, I guess my landlord’s almost being merciful by trying to cut things off
quickly.” He laughed, a little bitterly. “Thing is, I can hardly argue with him. This place just isn’t a
good fit for my gallery. It probably never was. But at the time, it was cheap; it seemed like the place
to go. People liked it. But things have changed. It’s just not feasible anymore. I certainly don’t like it,
but it’s time to face up to reality.”

I felt a strange, sick sensation in the pit of my stomach. After all the shows I’d done, all the time

I’d put into that gallery - now it was just going to shutter up? It had never occurred to me that
something like this might happen.

“This is awful,” I said, finally, in a feeble attempt to verbalize what was running through my head.
“It is awful,” he said. “And inevitable. I’ve been ignoring it for as long as I could, but the fact of

the matter is, the community of artists that used to support this place has moved on. They got their
corporate jobs, or they found their success on their own - whatever pulled them away, it worked.
They’re gone, and the buyers are gone…there’s just nothing that justifies keeping this place open,
except my own unforgivable sentimentality.”

I had to smile. “That seems like a good enough reason to me.”
“I know, I know. I can’t blame you. But it’s really better this way.” He cleared his throat.

“Anyway, I guess my point, besides just letting you know, is that you’re more than welcome to bring
some pieces down that you want to sell. Closures are great for business. I’ll have some empty spots
in no time, just as soon as word gets out.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” I could barely even think about my drawings right now. “I’ll come

down if I think of anything. Don’t hesitate to call me if there’s anything I can do.”

“You’re a peach. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I laid my phone down on the counter, trying to absorb the news. It was strange; I knew galleries

closed all the time, I had been noticing that not much had been selling at Starra lately. But it had never
occurred to me that one day, it might just be…gone.

He was right, too, about the money just being a temporary solution. It was fruitless to keep a

gallery open if no one was going to come.

Daniel was wandering back into the room.
“You look pensive,” he said. “You weren’t reading about birth defects again, were you?”
I shook my head. “Starra Gallery is closing.”
“That’s a shame.” He fiddled with his ring. “Anything we can do?”
“Not really. It’s just dying a natural death.” I spun around, slowly, on my stool. “You know, like

these things do.”

He sat down next to me, looking like he was on the verge of saying something, but couldn’t quite

force it out.

“Go on,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”
He took a deep breath, and let it out.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About the whole…” he hesitated, chewed on his lip for a moment,

and then began again. “Are you going to tell your parents?”

“Of course I’m going to tell my parents. Just, you know. Later on.” I cleared my throat. “Twelve

weeks. Same as everybody else.”

His face told me he was assuming I’d put it off. And God damn it, he was right. I didn’t want to. I

really, really didn’t want to.

“I just think our kid should have grandparents,” he said. “Even if they’re not perfect.”
“You know,” I said, looking at him. “My parents aren’t the only ones in the equation anymore.”
He stood up and walked away.

***

“You know, it’s not that I don’t like my father.”
I opened my eyes. In the pitch blackness of the bedroom - Daniel Thorne, prima donna

extraordinaire, could simply not sleep with a nightlight on - I could hardly see him. But I was pretty
sure he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Okay,” I said, making an effort to switch my half-asleep brain back on.

“Assuming for a moment that he is my father,” Daniel added. “Which by the way - for the record -

I still think is highly, highly unlikely.”

“Yeah, I gathered that.” I rolled over to face him, as if it mattered.
“I know you’re just thinking, what’s the harm? Why not try to meet him? Why not just give it a

whirl, for the hell of it? Either way, it’s going to be an incredible story to tell at parties.”

“Well,” I said. “That would be a nice side effect.”
“The thing is, Maddy, the thing is…” There was a moment’s hesitation. “He’s toxic. And he

doesn’t mean to be. He never means to be. I’m not saying, god, I’m glad he’s dead. I’m glad he’s out
of my life. But when I think about the possibility of interacting with him again…”

“I understand,” I said. “Believe me, I do.”
“He doesn’t lash out. He just slowly…slowly, slowly seeps into everything you have and ruins it

with his opinions and insinuations and father-knows-best. He’s a leech. An energy vampire. Whatever
you want to call those people who just suck the life out of you.”

I giggled. “Energy vampire?”
“It’s the middle of the night. Cut me some slack.”
“You’re the one who started talking,” I said, reasonably.
He sighed, into the darkness.
“This whole situation is insane,” he said. I could hear a wry smile in his voice. “You know, my

life made a lot more sense before I met you.”

I shook my head. “Look, okay, I know it’s weird, but I have all the confidence in the world that

you’ll figure out how to handle it. You always do. You’re much better with people than you think you
are.”

“Yes, of course,” he said. “That’s why I got written up as ‘the notably anti-social Daniel

Thorne.’” He was referring to a tabloid article from ages ago, which he clearly hadn’t forgotten.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a misquote,” I said.
“Well, the sentiment was the same. Regardless, this isn’t about whether or not I can put on a show

of being a convincing human. This is about me and my father and that’s simply not something I thought
I’d ever have to deal with again. So you’ll forgive me if I’m…”

“Reticent?”
“Or, yes. Any of the negative words you might use to describe my recent behavior.”
“I understand. I know I’ve said that a million times and it doesn’t have any meaning anymore, but I

really truly do understand and I’m sorry that you’re dealing with this right now. I don’t like it either.
But if you just ignore it, you know, that’s not going to make it any better. You’re just going to be
forever wondering what if.”

“I won’t argue with that,” he said. “I just hope I don’t end up wondering what if I hadn’t.”
I didn’t have an answer to that.

***

As I slipped back into my clothes in the obstetrician’s office, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d

spent an awful lot of time being poked and prodded at. The good news was, now that my pregnancy
was confirmed, everything looked “just fine.” I wasn’t sure what that meant at this early stage in the
game, but I certainly wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

After I’d pulled myself together, I went to meet the doctor in her office. Daniel was already sitting

in one of the chairs facing the desk.

“So, as I was just telling your wife, everything looks great at this point,” Dr. Lambert was saying.

“Based on what she’s told me, this is the due date I’m estimating,” she tapped something she’d

written on one of the many pamphlets that was spread across her desk, “but bear in mind that is just an
estimate. Once you get closer to that time, you’re going to want to let your body tell you when it’s
ready.”

“Sure,” I said, vaguely remembering my mom saying something about being pregnant with me for

ten months.

“I know it can be overwhelming to deal with a first pregnancy,” she said, “there’s a lot to think

about, and you might not be able to think of all the questions that you need the answers to right now.
We have a phone line that you can call at any time if you have a non-urgent question, and one of our
nurses will get an answer for you. Or, if you call after hours, you can leave a message and someone
will call you back as soon as they can. Barring that, I recommend that non-urgent questions can be
researched on the internet - from a reputable source, such as the Mayo Clinic website.”

She hit the word a little hard, looking at me as if she suspected I might be the type of person to try

and find emergency medical help on Yahoo Answers.

“Sure,” I said. “Absolutely.”
“Now, I’m just going to take a little bit of a family medical history. These are just good things to

know. They don’t necessarily tell us anything about the health of the baby; we just like to have them in
our records, just in case.”

Just in case what? I wanted to ask. But, of course, I didn’t.
She quizzed each of us in turn, writing notes on my chart as she did.
“Excellent,” she said, when it was finally all over. “Based on this, I’m not seeing any significant

risk factors that need to be taken into consideration. So that’s good news.”

“My mother had a long gestation period,” I blurted out, suddenly. “Is that - will - does that have

any effect on me?”

“Not necessarily,” said Dr. Lambert, with an understanding smile. “A lot of women find that their

pregnancy experiences are the polar opposites of what other women in their family go through - and
can even vary widely from one pregnancy to the next. The same woman might have a completely
different pregnancy with each child.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” I muttered.
“Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water,” Daniel deadpanned.
Dr. Lambert chuckled. “But, oftentimes, there will be common elements that you can come to

expect with each pregnancy. So you will learn something your first time around, if you decide to go
back for seconds.”

“Excellent,” said Daniel. “You just don’t know which things are useful until they happen.”
“Essentially, yes,” said Dr. Lambert. “But a lot of women find it’s comforting to simply be able to

say ‘oh, I’ve been through this before’ in a situation where they might otherwise be confused or
worried.”

“I see,” said Daniel. He sounded mildly skeptical.
“Don’t worry too much about it,” I said, patting his arm. “This is my cross to bear, let’s not

forget.”

“But don’t be afraid to let him help you,” said Dr. Lambert. “It’s very important to understand your

limitations. Your body’s going to be experiencing a lot of stresses, and a lot of changes. Physically
and emotionally. It’s normal to feel overwhelmed and out-of-control at times. But at the same time, if
something feels truly wrong, or greatly concerns you, it’s definitely worth making an appointment to
come see me. Anything from morning sickness to mood swings - if it’s too intense for you to deal
with, and it starts seriously interfering with your life, there are plenty of things that we can do to help

you.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate that.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” the doctor went on. “Pregnancy is no walk in the park, no matter what

modern conveniences we throw at it. But it can be much, much easier than it used to be. There’s no
need for women to suffer in silence anymore, for the most part. We can alleviate a lot of the worst
symptoms, if they come up. But at the same time, you need to understand that you’re carrying, feeding,
and supporting another human being inside of your body. So a certain amount of disturbance is
completely normal and natural.”

She glanced down at my chart again. “So, it doesn’t look like you’re on any prescription drugs

except your birth control, which I imagine you stopped taking when you found out you were
pregnant.”

I nodded.
“That’s good news,” she said. “You won’t need to transition off of any medication. You don’t

smoke?”

“No, and I already packed up all my wine to give away.” Something occurred to me. “What about

caffeine?”

“We generally say that a moderate amount is okay.” She flipped open a pamphlet and pointed to a

string of numbers. “This is a guideline, but honestly, a lot of women end up forgoing it completely
because it makes them feel safer. It’s important to be aware that caffeine is a drug, a stimulant - and it
does cross the placenta to the baby. Studies show that reasonable amounts aren’t really harmful, but
it’s doubtful that they’re helpful. I say if you can go without it, then go without it. But if you absolutely
can’t, it’s not going to hurt you or the baby. A lot of women have trouble sleeping, especially as the
pregnancy progresses and they get less comfortable. So if you need to get to work in the morning and
a cup of coffee is the only thing that’s going to do the job, absolutely. But otherwise…”

“Got it,” said Daniel. “No caffeine.”
“That’s not what she said,” I grumbled, but he was right. I’d most likely go without.
When we finally left the office, with me clutching a folder full of pamphlets to my chest, I felt

strangely…calm. I wasn’t sure why I kept expecting panic to set in, but I supposed there’d be plenty
of time for that later.

I sat down in the armchair in the living room after we got home, looking down at the forgotten

notepad where I’d begun writing Daniel’s biography.

“We really need to get back to work at some point,” I said, picking it up off the table and turning it

over in my hands.

“At some point,” said Daniel, flopping down on the sofa. “What do you think about…Lila, for a

girl?”

“Lila?” I repeated. “Wait. No, no, it is way too early to start talking about names.”
“Never too early,” he protested. “You’ve got to burn through all the bad ideas first. What about

Mabel?”

“That would be great, if we were in Little House on the Prairie.” I smiled at the face he made.

“Seriously, though, no. Let’s not talk about this right now.”

He was silent for a moment. “Catherine?” he said, finally.
I threw the pen at him.
“Hey,” he protested, dodging. “Do you know how much that cost?”
“No,” I said. “And for the love of God, don’t tell me.”
He was very quiet for a moment, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. I could tell

he was getting lost in thought, as he was prone to do more than occasionally.

“This is really happening, isn’t it,” he said, finally, the tone of his voice indicating it wasn’t a

question.

“It’s really happening.” I set the notebook down. “I even pinched myself to make sure.”
“I have to talk to my father, don’t I?” He said it so softly that I almost wondered if he was talking

to himself rather than to me.

I swallowed. “Do you want to?”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. I knew the answer, and had known it all along. It was

written across his face.

No, but I’m going to anyway.

Seven

When I called Genevieve saying I wanted to meet, I didn’t tell her I was bringing company. When

she looked up from her table at the coffee shop and saw Daniel, he looked surprised. “So she brought
you around, huh?”

“I suppose so.” Daniel looked intensely uncomfortable. “Is there any way you can…arrange a

meeting? If he is who we think he is, I don’t want our first conversation to be on the phone.”

“Sure,” said Gen. “Of course. I’ll contact him and let you know what he says. And I guess if he

backs out, then we’ll know it was all some kind of hoax.”

“And if he tries to assassinate me, I’ll sue you into oblivion.” Daniel smiled beatifically, and Gen

just laughed.

“No offense, but I don’t think you’re quite at the ‘assassination’ level,” she said. “I think you still

just get ‘murdered.’”

“Well it’s all the same in the end, isn’t it?” said Daniel.
I felt an irrational pang of jealousy.
“Well, Genevieve,” I said, cutting into their banter, “thank you so much for your help. And thanks

for bringing this to my attention. We really owe you one.”

“Well, that remains to be seen,” said Daniel.
“I’ll make sure you meet in a public place,” said Gen, sensibly. “And I’ll know where you are.

Safety first.”

“Sure,” said Daniel. “That’s easy for you to say.”
I cleared my throat. “Okay, I think we’d better be going now. Daniel?”
“What?” he looked down at me. “I don’t think we’re in any particular rush.”
“I’d like to get dinner started,” I fibbed. I had absolutely no idea what I was making for dinner. In

fact, I was pretty sure all we had around were a few potatoes that were starting to grow tentacles. I
turned to Genevieve. “Again - thank you.”

“Anytime,” she replied. “Which is…on reflection, an absurd thing to say in this particular

scenario.”

“I’ll forgive the lapse,” said Daniel, smiling.
By the time we got to the car, I thought I might actually be turning green.
“Dinner?” Daniel turned to me and queried, as I hit the driver partition button that would separate

us from John. He looked like he might be on the verge of saying something else, before I clambered
over his lap and covered his mouth with mine.

He made a small noise of surprise, but his hands clasped my waist and pulled me down closer,

almost by instinct.

I was all over him - kissing my way down his jaw, his neck, while my fingers clumsily picked at

his shirt buttons. I had undone them a thousand times, but suddenly, they seemed impossible.

He chuckled, his breath hot against my skin.
“Every time,” he said. “You know she’s no threat to you.”
I gave him a sharp look. “You’d better not be complaining.”
“I think you know very well that I’m not.” He shifted his hips, pressing himself against me to

punctuate the point. I sighed, my lips parting and eyes closing of their own accord.

“We don’t have much time, you know,” he said quietly, his hands gripping my ass.
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” I said, grinning. I shifted slightly so that I could reach down

and unzip his pants. He bit his lip as I reached in and grabbed him.

“I don’t know,” he exhaled, “if that was meant to be an insult or not. But just for good measure,

when we get home, you’re in for a spanking.”

“Oh, no,” I said, frowning as I lowered myself onto him. “Maybe I can make it up to you

somehow.” I smiled as he slid all the way home, and I was nestled snugly on his lap, my thighs spread
over him. “Change your mind.”

He made a soft growling noise that he knew drove me absolutely wild - and then, there was no

more talking for quite a while. It was fast and hot, with me undulating on top of him while he
whispered encouragements and slipped his fingers into my mouth. I swirled my tongue around them
the way I knew he liked, a hot implicit promise of some future encounter, yet to be determined.

I tossed my hair as I rode him, smiling, reveling in the way he looked at me. Like there was

absolutely no one else in the entire world. His fingers dug into my soft flesh and I let myself moan his
name. Normally I would stifle myself - it felt like such artifice that it actually embarrassed me. And
even if I forgot about doing it, he’d always tease me afterwards. But every once in a while, I would
just let it slip.

Daniel. Daniel. Daniel.
It was what echoed in my head with every breath, every heartbeat, when we were together like

this. I was beginning to grow lightheaded, like there wasn’t enough air to breathe in this little space,
but all I wanted to breathe was him. My fingers clutched at his shoulders, leaving little wrinkled
marks on the perfectly starched material.

Maybe it was strange, but I always wish I could muss his hair the way he did mine. But no matter

what I did, his loose dark curls would just fall back exactly where they wanted to be. Me, on the other
hand - all he had to do was run his fingers through my hair and it would never set in the same way
again. Like he was leaving a semi-permanent mark on me, every time we touched. It certainly felt like
it.

I tilted my head back, and I felt him run his fingers down my throat, like he was tracing it to

remember the exact shape. The specific way it curved, whenever he was made me feel like this. Like
I was going to explode at any moment. Like I was on the verge of dying the most glorious death
imaginable.

We finished remarkably quietly, together, in such a well-synchronized series of jerky movements

and short, panting breaths that I almost wanted to laugh afterwards.

I noticed, all of a sudden, that the car had stopped moving. I heard a single light tap on the

window, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps on the sidewalk.

“What a gentleman,” I said, referring to John.
“He’s quite the consummate professional,” said Daniel, with a smile that lit up his whole face.

***

It was an unseasonably warm day. John let us out at the first available spot, then went to circle the

block while he waited for us. I wondered how short Daniel intended for this meeting to be, exactly.

We approached the seating area slowly. It was crawling with people, some talking, sharing coffee,

or playing chess. My eyes swept the crowd, even though I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for.

As soon as I saw him, I knew.
It was eerie, how alike they were. And not just in their appearance - Mr. Thorne had a subtly

different face, and he was taller - but their bearing, the way they held their heads. The color of their
eyes. I followed Daniel as he walked, standing beside him when he stopped. My hands were clasped
in front of me and I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do.

“Hello,” said Mr. Thorne, at last.
Daniel just nodded, tightly. He rested his hand on my shoulder.
“This is my wife,” he said. “Maddy. But you already know that, I suppose.”
Mr. Thorne smiled, extending his hand to me. I shook it firmly. I didn’t really know what was

expected of me, but I figured I might as well be courteous to the man.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, which sounded absurd under the circumstances.
“Likewise,” said my father-in-law.
He made a move to go sit down at one of the tables, and I followed, Daniel tailing behind me

somewhat reluctantly. I didn’t know what he’d expected to happen. Did he think his father would be
content with just a quick “hello” after all these years?

Of course, he hadn’t expected to see his father at all. As we sat down, I searched his face for some

sign of shock or even mild surprise. But he seemed resigned to it, which solidified my idea that he
hadn’t really cared, one way or the other. Whether his father was alive or dead, he really never
wanted to see the man again.

But here we were. There was no turning back from it.
This will be good for him. For both of them. For us. I had to keep reassuring myself of that, no

matter how unsure I was.

I rested my hand on my stomach, unthinkingly. I couldn’t feel a difference yet, but I’d been assured

I would - and soon.

“So,” said Daniel. “Why did you want to meet?”
He was being cold and disingenuous, just the same as with journalists that he didn’t like. I thought

it was a bit much, but then again, I couldn’t really blame him.

“I just wanted to see you again,” said Mr. Thorne. He tilted his head vaguely in my direction. “I

wanted to meet your wife. I wanted to find out if it was true, what I read in the paper.”

“Regardless,” said Daniel, “I think you’re the one who owes me some answers.”
Mr. Thorne steepled his fingers together. “I think that’s fair.” He took a deep breath. “When I left,

I really thought I was never coming back. I thought you - you and your sister - would be better off
without me.”

Daniel’s lip was twitching like he wanted, badly, to sneer a little. I laid my hand on his arm.
“I’d reached a point in my life,” his father went on, “where there didn’t seem to be any way to go

on I realized I was too much of a coward to kill myself. But if I faked my death, I could go on. I could
start over. I could set out and make a new life for myself, and I wouldn’t have to keep thinking about

all the mistakes I’d made.”

He paused, letting out a long breath and unlacing his fingers. “I wasn’t really…thinking

rationally.”

“You don’t say,” Daniel muttered.
“But back then, it did seem like the solution. Not a good one, but a solution. There are no good

solutions to that kind of situation, I don’t think.”

He looked up at us for a moment, as if seeking some sort of validation. Daniel just looked at him

as if he’d landed from another planet.

“Of course I regret it now,” Mr. Thorne said. “Looking back on it, it’s hard to believe that person

was me. I’d never make a decision like that now. Not in a thousand years. But the fact of the matter is
that I did once, and now I have to deal with the consequences of that decision.”

“And what are those consequences, exactly?” Daniel asked, very softly.
Mr. Thorne cleared his throat. “Missing so many years with my son and my daughter,” he said, his

voice sounding just slightly strained. “And of course, the possibility that neither one of you is going to
want to be around me. I wouldn’t blame you, but it would mean I’ve made the kind of mistake I can’t
come back from.” He paused for a moment. “And that…that, I don’t know how I would face.”

“If you’re trying to send me on a guilt trip…” Daniel started.
“I’m not.” Mr. Thorne looked up from the table again, and I swore that his eyes looked slightly

misty. “Do you remember that Christmas you wanted the remote control car?”

“Yes,” said Daniel, tightly.
“I was so proud of you,” he said. “Because you didn’t cry. I thought - I thought you were going to

grow up into exactly the kind of man I wanted you to be.” He swallowed, audibly. “You have no idea
how many times I’ve cried like a little girl since I left. I’m not ashamed to admit it, anymore.”

Daniel made a small noise - I couldn’t tell if he was touched or disgusted, or possibly some

mixture of both. “And did I?” he said, his voice still flat and emotionless.

“Are you asking me if I’m proud of you?” said Mr. Thorne. “Of course I am.”
Sitting quietly next to Daniel, watching the two men talk, I didn’t know what to make of this at all.

I knew that my own parents had a remarkable ability to say whatever they felt like they needed to say
to get back into my good graces, if I ever got really angry with them - only to go back to their old
ways as soon as things settled back down. I wondered if that was happening here, if Daniel, at least,
suspected it was going to happen. But it was impossible to say, wasn’t it? After a man fakes his own
death and disappears for years, who can say how his state of mind might change?

This whole thing was more than a little surreal.
There was so much simmering under the surface that I could hardly concentrate on their words

anymore. Mr. Thorne started asking Daniel about his life, many questions to which he must have
already known the answers, but Daniel answered. He was short, and cold, but he answered.

“And how about you?” Mr. Thorne said suddenly, turning to look at me with his piercing green

eyes. I suddenly felt like I was being cross-examined.

“I…how about me?” I repeated, stupidly. I couldn’t remember what he’d said last.
“Well, let’s start at the beginning. How did you two meet?”
I hesitated. We had a carefully-rehearsed story for this, but I actually wasn’t sure if Daniel

intended to tell his father the truth about us. That we had, in fact, once been married purely for the
sake of a green card.

When Daniel didn’t volunteer anything after a few moments, I decided now wasn’t the time.
“We met at work,” I said. “I was a graphic designer for Plum.”

Mr. Thorne raised his eyebrows. “Oh,” he said. “That’s…impressive.”
Something about his tone rubbed me the wrong way. I couldn’t put my finger on it, so I pushed

forward.

“At first we kept it a secret because of the, you know, the whole workplace ethics issue. The

conflict.” He was looking at me blankly, and it occurred to me that he was from a generation where
men nailed their secretaries without a second thought to the ethics of the situation. “Anyway, after a
while we decided we were serious, so we started dating publicly. And after that, it was all a big
whirlwind.” I smiled a very practiced smile. I knew he must have already heard this story too, but for
some reason, he wanted me to tell him.

“That’s wonderful,” he said, and there was something behind his words that I didn’t quite

understand. “I’m very…” he paused, looking from one of us to the other and then back again. “I’m
very, very glad that Daniel found someone he could settle down with. Back in the day, I thought it
would never happen.”

“Most people don’t ‘settle down’ at nineteen,” said Daniel, quietly. “Which, if I recall correctly,

is about when you started lecturing me about my lack of a steady girlfriend.” There was a tense
silence of a moment, then he managed a wan smile. “But as you can see, all that’s changed now.”

“I can see that,” Mr. Thorne replied. “What made you change your mind, kiddo?”
My husband winced at the nickname, but I could see that Mr. Thorne only used it out of habit. He

wasn’t actually trying to be condescending. He didn’t have to.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s hard to quantify, isn’t it?”
“If you say so,” said Mr. Thorne. He looked at me, smiling a smile that unnerved me for a reason I

couldn’t explain. “You know, my dear, I don’t think we were introduced properly.”

“I guess not,” I said.
“My name’s Walter,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about me. But I hope you’ll let me have

a fresh start to make a first impression.”

You’re not doing well so far.
“Sure,” I said, smiling at him. “Absolutely.”
“So,” said Walter. “You must have quit working for Plum.”
“Officially,” I said, glancing at Daniel. “From the amount of product testing I do, though, you

wouldn’t think so. Except for the fact that I don’t get paid.”

Walter chuckled. “That’s my Daniel. Put her to work. Other than your grueling duties, how do you

like being a housewife?”

I felt my mouth twist of its own accord.
“Actually,” I said, “I do a lot with my art right now. I’ve been going to shows, and last month I got

a job illustrating a short story for Corwind.” He looked at me blankly. “It’s a literary magazine,” I
added.

“Oh,” he said, smiling. “Well, that’s very nice.”
“I’m going to have to tell Lindsey, you know,” said Daniel after a lull.
Walter shrugged. “Tell her she’s welcome to call,” he said. “Come up and see me, maybe.”
We parted a short time later with vague promises to meet again. Walter passed Daniel a little

piece of hotel stationery with his phone number scrawled on it, and they shook hands before Walter
turned and walked away.

“Well,” I said a few minutes later, just to cut through the silence. “At least he didn’t ask you for

money.”

***

“So,” said Daniel, after he and his sister had exchanged pleasantries. “Here’s the thing. Are you

sitting down?”

“Oh my God,” I heard her chirp through the phone. “It’s true, isn’t it? Congratulations! I mean, I

know you didn’t necessarily - but - it’s good, right? Congratulations, Danny. Let me talk to her.”

“No, no,” said Daniel, once she gave him a chance to cut in. “It’s not about that.”
There was a confused silence on the other end.
“I’m serious,” said Daniel. “Are you sitting down?”
“Yes,” Lindsey snapped. “What the hell’s going on?”
He started wandering farther away, but I could still hear his end of the conversation, at least. “Let

me preface this by saying I know it sounds insane, and I didn’t believe it at first either. I wouldn’t
believe it, unless I’d seen him with my own eyes. But Dad…” He hesitated for a moment here, is if
he, too, were still just barely able to come to terms with the reality of it. “Dad’s alive.”

I could hear the volume of the noise that Lindsey made, but I couldn’t distinguish if there were any

words involved.

Daniel winced, pulling the phone away from his ear. “I just met him in the park. He saw that

article, about Maddy. I guess he didn’t want to risk never getting to know his theoretical grandchild,
so he went to one of the journalists I’ve worked with and she passed it along.”

He was silent for a while after that, so that all I could hear was the long string of incoherent

squawking on the other end of the phone.

“I suppose he felt like it was the one way out,” he said, finally “He told me he…he felt like we

would be ‘better off without him.’ He thought he could get a fresh start. I don’t know. You’re more
than welcome to talk to him yourself. I have his number.”

More squawking, punctuated by the occasional assenting noise from Daniel.
“Well, I agree,” he said, finally. “But there it is. You can do what you will, I just thought you

should know.”

She went on for a while longer, while Daniel just sat and nodded. There wasn’t much you could

say about this situation, really. I felt incredibly sorry for him. As comfortable as was with Lindsey,
this had to be a cringe-inducingly horrible conversation to have with anyone.

“I don’t know,” he said, after a long time. “Lindsey, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him if you

really want to know.” A pause. “Well, I don’t blame you, but those are your only options. I can’t read
his mind.” Another pause. “I know that. You think I don’t know that? I wanted to punch him when he
tried to imply that he left for our own good. I don’t know how much of his own bullshit he actually
believes, but if you want answer you’re going to have to prepare yourself to hear something like that.”

Even being in the same room with his conversation was making me uncomfortable, but I couldn’t

walk away, knowing it was happening. I chewed on my thumbnail, ears straining to pick up Lindsey’s
words but not wanting to make my eavesdropping obvious by coming closer.

“No, not one bit,” Daniel was saying. “Not as far as I can tell. I don’t know what he’s been doing

for all these years, but I guess it didn’t involve any serious soul-searching.” A longer pause. “Does
that really surprise you?”

By the time he finally hung up, he looked exhausted and ashen. I got up then, and came to sit next to

him at the kitchen island. I rested my hand in the middle of his back and rubbed it lightly.

“Is she okay?” was the only thing I could think to ask.
“She’s angry,” said Daniel. “But yes, she’ll be fine. She just has to come to terms with the idea. I

was eased into it, she’s trying to swallow the whole thing at once.”

“I can’t imagine.”
“She resents him, more than I do, I think.” It always surprised me when Daniel spoke with this

kind of raw honesty, even though it wasn’t all that unusual - it just always felt so out of character,
because he would often avoid and skirt around conversations he didn’t want to have. But when he
was ready to talk, he really talked. “He was harder on me, certainly, because - you know. I was the
son.” He smiled humorlessly. “But Lindsey, she was actually the more ambitious of the two of us. She
had to be. Dad never once acknowledged how driven she was, how she would never let anyone look
down on her. He never sat her down and told her to act like a lady, but he didn’t need to. He was
always telling her in so many subtle ways. It infuriated her. Thankfully, she’s even more stubborn than
I am.” He smiled. “But she’s never let go of that feeling. That he never appreciated her, or that he
tried to undermine her. I think if she saw him today she’d probably just start yelling for an hour or
two, and never stop.”

“Maybe that’s what he needs,” I said. “Kind of a…shock therapy.”
“Or actual shock therapy,” said Daniel. “Let’s not rule out any possibilities prematurely.”

Eight

After the phone call with Lindsey, we spent a few days not talking about it. The problem was, if

we couldn’t talk about that, we couldn’t really talk about anything. It was the only thing either one of
us wanted to talk about, or could talk about, or could even think about. Our evenings were filled with
heavy, conspicuous silences. After a few years of living with someone, a day of silence is the
strangest thing you can imagine. When I finally went down to get the mail and had to say hello to one
of my neighbors, I was shocked at the sound of my own voice, rough with disuse.

I don’t mean, of course, that we literally didn’t speak. We said good morning to each other and

exchanged other pleasantries, but I think we were afraid to take it any further. I tried to think of a
light, non-confrontational way to bring up the only topic we really cared about, but everything
sounded trite.

So, are you going to meet your dad again? How could I possibly drop it so lightly? There was

absolutely nothing I could say that would even begin to address all the thoughts that were running
around in circles in my head.

To escape the oppressive silence, I retreated to my studio. But every time I sat down to draw, all I

could think about was the gallery closing. If someone had asked me to name the five most important
things in my life, I doubt I ever would have thought to name the gallery. But now that I knew it would
shortly be gone, I felt the loss acutely.

And then, of course, there was the slight matter of me being pregnant.
I almost wanted to laugh at how absurd it was, to be dealing with all of this at once. I knew that

“when it rained, it poured,” but really? This? This was a monsoon.

Of course at times I scolded myself for being melodramatic. Two of the major life-changing events

I was dealing with were positive things - weren’t they? We were starting a family, and reconnecting
with one that Daniel thought he’d lost. The closing of one small art gallery hardly compared to that.
So why was my stomach in knots?

Well, I supposed that might be the pregnancy talking.
Really, though, for all intents and purposes, I didn’t feel like a mom-to-be. Other than forgoing my

glasses of wine in the evening, I hadn’t changed a single thing. I knew I’d have to make some pretty
big adjustments before long, but at the moment it sort of felt like some strange hypothetical game. Or
that health class assignment in high school where you have to carry around a bag of flour for a week

and pretend it’s a baby.

I knew it was real, and I knew it was serious. But I suppose my brain was trying to take things one

small, manageable bite at a time. And considering I hadn’t even seriously though about having a
family until the charity dinner, I thought I was handling it pretty well.

Daniel was, to my immense relief, not becoming ridiculously clingy or over-protective as time

passed. Not that I thought he would, exactly. But it was still nice to know I could continue living my
life without him hovering.

Finally, one morning, I took my opportunity to begin an actual conversation.
“How are you feeling?” he said, the same as every morning these days.
“Fine,” I said. “How about you?”
He eyed me over the rim of his coffee mug. “…fine?” he replied, not sounding terribly convincing.
“Really?” was my only response.
He sighed, setting down his mug. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “And the answer is, I

don’t know. I don’t know if I’m going to see him again.”

“It wasn’t…” I knew I had to approach this carefully. “It wasn’t…terrible, was it?”
“It wasn’t terrible,” Daniel agreed. “Certainly. He could have been outright hostile. Instead, he

was just condescending as usual.”

“Well,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. He was right. Walter gave me the distinct

impression of looking down his nose at us.

“He thinks it’s all right for him to be patronizing, because he’s my father.” Daniel’s mouth twisted

into a sort of bitter half-smile. “Do you know, one time when I told him to stop patronizing me, he
proceeded to give me a lesson about the root of the word? Yes - I know it literally means ‘to act like
a father,’ but that isn’t an excuse for treating adults like children who don’t know any better. He just
thinks it is. And nobody’s ever going to convince him otherwise, so it’s not even worth trying.”

I couldn’t keep myself from laughing. “I’m sorry,” I said, as Daniel looked at me askance. “I just, I

can’t imagine anything more patronizing than someone explaining the definition of the word
‘patronizing’ to someone who just accused them of being exactly that. It’s like he somehow made the
concept of patronizing crawl up its own ass.”

“Yes,” said Daniel, letting himself laugh a little bit. “Yes - that’s exactly it. That’s my father in a

nutshell.”

I drummed my fingers on the table. “Well, you know, I think…” I didn’t know what I thought,

actually.

“I have to go to work.” Daniel cut me off mid-thought, snatching his keys off of the coat rack and

heading for the door. “By all means, if you come up with a way to make him less insufferable, let me
know.”

***

“Didn’t you tell them you’d have the biography done by the end of the year?” I said one evening,

over dinner.

I could tell by the expression on his face that he’d completely forgotten. “Yes,” he said, evenly.

“Yes, I did.”

“I think maybe we should get back to work,” I said. “We can skip over all the childhood stuff for

now, if you’d rather not talk about it.”

Daniel took in a sharp breath through his nose. This, I knew, was always a prelude to something

important. “I was actually thinking,” he said, “maybe it would be useful to talk to my father for the
book.”

I looked at him skeptically.
“Don’t you think so?” he said, mildly, as if the last conversation we’d had about it hadn’t ended

the way it did. I’d been left with the distinct impression he’d rather jam a pencil in his eye than talk to
his dad again.

“I guess, sure,” I said. “If you…I mean, if that’s what you really want.”
“You certainly don’t have to,” he said.
I shifted in my seat. “No, it’s fine,” I said. “I like that idea, actually.”
He smiled. “If he gets insufferable, don’t hesitate to tell him to fuck off.”
“I’m definitely not going to do that,” I replied. “But it’s nice to know I have your blessing.”

***

“I don’t know how much I’ll be able to help you,” Walter was saying, as he sat down on the sofa.

“But I guess I’m honored.”

I smiled, opening my notebook. “I just thought it might be interesting to get a different perspective

on Daniel,” I said. “Especially his formative years.”

Walter shrugged. “He was a pretty normal kid.”
I surveyed the man in front of me. It was absolutely eerie to look at him; like a strange vision of an

alternate future, where Daniel suddenly decided to start talking like a normal person instead of
someone giving a dissertation.

“Normal,” I said. “How do you define normal exactly?”
Walter shrugged again. I had a feeling that a pattern was developing. “You know, just, more or

less what you expect a kid to be. He wasn’t as, uh…he wasn’t as driven as his sister.” He looked
slightly…not uncomfortable, exactly, but something. I couldn’t quite identify it.

“Normal,” I repeated.
“Sure,” said Walter. “Normal. I know he doesn’t really think of himself that way. And I guess he

did get less normal as he got older. I just mean there wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about
him, at least not then.”

“Was there ever?” I twirled the pen around in my fingers. “Was there ever a moment when it hit

you, ‘there’s something special about this kid?’”

Walter smiled, hesitantly. “It’s going to reflect pretty badly on me if I say no, isn’t it?”
I met his eyes. “Just be honest, Walter.”
“Being perfectly honest?” He uncrossed and re-crossed his legs in the other direction. “No. I

mean, everybody hopes - you know. Everybody wants their kid to be something special. But honestly,
I had no idea. Even when he was in college, and he started trying to explain all those gizmos and
gadgets to me. Everything he was working on that eventually turned into such a big deal. It all
sounded like total bullshit to me. Excuse me.” He paused, seeming to suddenly remember where he
was.

I waved my hand dismissively.
“I still don’t really get it. My fear for him, always, which I think he took as some kind of…I don’t

know, resentment, was that the bottom would fall out. All these new systems and machines, they don’t
make any sense to me and it never did. That really irritated him. He wanted me to just go along with
it, I guess, but how could I? I didn’t understand it.”

He was looking at me like he wanted an actual answer.
“I don’t know.” I swallowed, thickly, suddenly feeling very nervous. If I said anything to Walter

that Daniel didn’t like, I could potentially make their relationship even worse than it already was.
Which would be quite an accomplishment.

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Walter demanded, with a slightly raised voice. “I’m not a

geek like him.” Suddenly, he switched gears and stared at me. “Don’t you write that,” he snapped,
pointing at my notepad. “Don’t you tell him I said that.”

I didn’t answer. “I think maybe, at a certain point, he just wanted you to accept that he knew what

he was doing, even if you didn’t understand it. He wanted you to trust him.” I took a deep breath. “To
respect him, really.”

Walter gave me a look that I’d seen on my own father’s face one too many times. “Respect him?

He’s my son.”

“Not everyone feels that way,” I said, amazed at my ability to stay calm. “This is pretty far off-

track of what I’m trying to accomplish here, but if you want my advice, you could try apologizing to
him for the ways that he feels you undermined him.”

“Apologize.” Walter’s forehead creased. “I don’t owe him any apologies. I always did the best I

could for him.”

“All right,” I said. “Forget I mentioned it.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Madeline, but I’ve known this boy for longer than you’ve been alive. I

can figure out how to deal with him on my own.”

“This boy,” I repeated, softly.
“Don’t read into that,” he commanded.
“I’m sorry,” I said, not sorry at all. “You just seemed confused about the way he feels. I was trying

to give you some helpful information.”

“He’s confused about the way he feels,” Walter shot back. “He doesn’t want to think of himself as

‘normal’ because that’s the kiss of death, as far as he’s concerned. But he can’t brag either. He can’t
go around saying he’s better than everyone, because he knows that’s how you get cut down. So he
does this instead. He calls himself strange or awkward or eccentric or whatever, and it’s this coded
language for I’m better than you but I’m going to say it, I’m going to make you say it. It always
bugged the hell out of me when he was a kid, and it only got worse when he was a teenager. By the
time he went off to college, honestly, it was a relief to get away from that.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m
sure he felt the same way about me.”

“Sounds like a personality clash,” I said.
“He was just disrespectful,” Walter replied, disdainfully. “Personality clash, my ass.”
“That’s an interesting word choice,” I said. I couldn’t help myself, as much as I’d walked into this

hoping to just smile and nod in response to every ridiculous thing he said.

“Why? Every father wants to be respected by his son.”
“And every son wants to be respected by his father,” I countered.
“Well,” Walter said. “He’s got to earn that.”
“And you don’t.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.
“What about your daughter?” I said, finally.
“What about my daughter?” Walter shifted in his seat. “This book’s about Danny, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, but we’re going to cover the whole family. Or as much as is relevant to understanding

where Daniel came from.” I flipped a page in my notebook. “You said she was different.”

“She’s got a motor on her.” Walter nodded. “I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“She’s very ambitious,” I agreed. “You must be proud.”
There was a moment’s hesitation. “Of course,” he said. He seemed to consider his next words for

quite a while. “I mean, I don’t think that’s the dream every father has for his little girl. But I guess it’s
what made her happy.”

“What was your dream for Lindsey?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A good husband, white picket fence, a happy life, all that stuff.” He looked at

me. “That’s not so wrong, is it?”

“She has all those things,” I pointed out.
“I know,” said Walter, making a slight face. “But I guess, the way she went about it….it just

doesn’t make sense to me. That’s not what I would have chosen for her.”

I had to bite my tongue to avoid saying something along the lines of well, it’s a good thing it’s her

life, then, and not yours.

“I just worry about them,” he said, sensing that he needed a save. “The only reason I left was

because I’d convinced myself that I was doing more harm than good, as far as influencing their lives.”
He sighed. “Now, I don’t know. I don’t know if I was right before, but I’m definitely right now. I’m
just not sure I can undo what I did.”

“You can’t,” I said.
“Well, I know that,” he said. “Undo isn’t the right word. I just want to…live it down, I guess.”
“Faking your own death,” I said. “That’s a pretty big thing to live down.”
“Well.” He fidgeted. “I just sent a boat out, it’s not like I sent my car off a cliff with some drifter

trapped inside.”

“So as far as fake deaths go, you think it was pretty low on the melodrama scale, and you deserve

some credit for that?” I could barely keep a straight face, but I had a feeling that if I just up and started
laughing at him, this would probably end pretty badly.

“I don’t know,” he said, irritated. “It’s like I said. I was irrational at the time. Things were…

things were pretty bad.”

“I think from their perspective, they thought you had a pretty good life. They were helping support

you, weren’t they? Financially, I mean.”

“The Social Security’s not much,” he said, “and God knows I don’t get a pension from that soul-

sucking company.”

“But they were doing everything they could to make you feel comfortable.”
He shrugged. “Well, money can’t buy happiness.”
I decided to ignore the platitude. “Both of them, by their early twenties, were making enough that

they were able to support themselves and make your life more comfortable. That’s pretty impressive.
Most people don’t have kids that can pull that off.”

“Well, it’s like I said.” He cleared his throat. “They always were pretty extraordinary people.”
“You didn’t say that.” I bit the end of my pen.
“Really?” said Walter, looking at me. “Are you sure?”

***

“Holy fucking shit.”
Daniel looked up, mildly. “That bad, hmm?”
“Oh, my God. I wanted to tear my hair out.” I was spinning slowly on one of the kitchen stools, as

if I could somehow rewind my memory to before the interview. “Some of the shit he says. And then at
the end of it all, he starts ‘repeating’ things that he insisted he said, but never actually did.”

“That’s classic Walter,” said Daniel. “If he doesn’t like your reaction, he tries to alter your

memory of his half of the conversation.”

“Does it ever work?”

“Well, sort of. People eventually stop arguing with him because it’s impossible. You can only tell

someone the sky isn’t green a few times before you just give up.”

“I get the sense that he just sort of wants to gloss over the whole…you know, the whole thing about

faking his own death and disappearing for years. I get that it’s probably uncomfortable to talk about,
but he’s got to understand that people are going to need some kind of explanation for that behavior
before they’re ready to jump right into a friendly relationship with him.”

“He doesn’t want a relationship,” said Daniel. “He wants someone to inflict his advice and

worldview on.”

I took a deep breath and tried to gather my thoughts. I wasn’t helping things along by encouraging

Daniel’s hostility towards his father.

“He does care about you, though,” I said. “Both of you. He worries about you. That’s why he’s

always trying to give you advice. He’s afraid that things won’t work out.”

“And if things don’t work out, then that reflects badly on him as a father,” said Daniel, pulling a

beer out of the fridge and popping the top. “God forbid.”

“Well, it’s that,” I said. “But he also doesn’t want to see you suffer. Just like any halfway-decent

father.”

“Halfway is generous,” said Daniel.
“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”
“Not particularly.” Daniel took a long swig. “If you just look at his behavior from a completely

objective standpoint, I don’t think anyone would disagree with me.”

“Maybe not, but he’s back now. He wants a chance to redeem himself.”
“And he’s doing a bang-up job of it, sounds like.” Daniel set down his beer. “Honestly, I

appreciate what you’re trying to do. But my father and I have been fighting this fight ever since I was
old enough to express my own opinions. If he decides to come around and actually listen to anything I
have to say, and accept that he doesn’t always know best, then I won’t object to hearing him out. But
with the way it sounds like things are going, I’m not interested. I have to put up with enough people I
don’t like for business reasons. In my personal life, I’m not going to let myself get sucked into that.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

Nine

As I pushed open the front door to the Starra Gallery and inhaled the familiar smell of the hard

wood floors and accents, I almost forgot for a moment why I was here.

It didn’t look like a place that was closing.
I’d decided to take Curtis up on his offer to bring some more work to sell in the upcoming

liquidation. Typically - especially of late - it had taken months and months for my displayed work to
sell, but now he couldn’t keep the walls filled.

With my portfolio tucked under my arm, I headed towards Curtis’s office in the back.
“…don’t be an idiot. You want my advice? Go take a walk, or paint a picture, or whatever you do

for fun. Get out of this gallery and forget about it for a day or two. You’re way too absorbed in this
place and it’s made you lose your perspective completely.”

Who the hell was this guy? The voice was brash and unfamiliar to me, and whoever it was, he

wasn’t allowing Curtis much chance to respond.

“I don’t really think that’s fair,” I heard him respond, finally. Quietly. I’d never known Curtis to

sound so cowed.

“Of course you don’t. It’s a criticism of you.” God, I wanted to punch this guy right in the face.

That was probably the hormones talking. But maybe not.

By now, I was close enough to the doorway that they were going to notice me at any minute. I

cleared my throat.

Both men turned to look at me.
Curtis seemed relieved. The other man was tall and rotund and florid, with a wireless earpiece

that looked absurdly small compared to the size of his head.

“I apologize,” he said, his tone of voice instantly changing to forced politeness. “Why didn’t you

tell me you had an appointment?”

His whole demeanor was different, as soon as he looked at my face. I’d seen it happen dozens of

times before, and even though the change was always in my favor, it still made me vaguely sick to my
stomach.

“I’m a drop-in,” I said. “I should be apologizing to you.”
“No, no, of course not. I’m sure you don’t need to make appointments.” The man was actually

smiling and walking backwards. For fuck’s sake. “Curtis, we can finish this discussion later.”

“Holy hell,” I said, as soon as the door was closed.
“I know.” Curtis looked positively gray. He went to the little electric kettle that he kept in the back

of the room, fiddling with it absently. “That’s my landlord, by the way.”

“Oh, my God. You’re kidding me.” I sat down, folding my arms across my chest. “I would have

murdered him by now.”

“Well, I barely ever have to talk to him. He’s usually too busy snorting cocaine off of Eliot

Spitzer’s prostitute, or whatever he does in his spare time. Of which he has plenty.”

I smiled at him as he handed me a mug of tea. “Don’t hold back, tell me how you really feel.”
“I don’t understand why he’s been up my ass lately. I already told him, I’m not renewing the lease

and he’s the reason why. But he keeps hounding me. What for, I can’t figure out. It’s like he’s trying to
rub my face in it.”

“It would be a shame if this place burned down accidentally after you cleared everything out,” I

said, with a grin.

“Oh my God, no,” said Curtis. “Please. Don’t put any ideas in my head.”
“Well I guess that answers my question of ‘how are you doing.’” I sipped my tea. It was on the tip

of my tongue to start ranting about all the insanity I was dealing with, but then I remembered it was
too early to talk about the pregnancy, and Daniel and I hadn’t even discussed the possibility of talking
about his dad to anyone else. As far as the rest of the world knew, Walter was still dead.

“Hanging onto sanity, you know, one day at a time,” Curtis said, echoing my exact feelings. “You

know, the usual. Doing yoga, deep breathing exercises, casually considering arson.”

“I’m not bailing you out.” I set my mug down on the desk. “I don’t care if you tell them it was my

idea, they’ll never believe you.”

“Of course they wouldn’t. Look at that face.” He grinned at me for a moment, then looked away,

abruptly. “But back to business, I’m assuming you’ve brought me something you want me to try and
unload for you?”

He flipped open my portfolio and glanced at the pieces. “Very nice,” he said, smiling, but I could

tell he wasn’t really seeing them.

I couldn’t blame him. Being in this place for the first time since I’d learned about its fate, the

oddly poignant sense of loss came back with a vengeance. I knew that this place wasn’t just a
business for Curtis; it was a piece of his personal history. He’d originally acquired it to impress a
pretty classmate, who eventually became his wife. She’d since passed away, but the walls of his
office were lined with her paintings.

“How’d you end up with a landlord, anyway? I thought you bought this place.”
He smiled wryly. “Joke’s on me. Back in the nineties, I went through a little bit of a rough patch

and I was having trouble paying the mortgage. So were my neighbors - back when we were all
involved in the art community. Big on inspiration, not so big on actual real dollars. That guy, if you
can imagine, came in as an angel of mercy and bought the whole block. He bailed us all out. He made
a lot of promises, and we were so grateful to him for ‘saving’ us that we didn’t read all the fine
print.”

“Well, at least now you know for next time.”
He gave me a look. “Next time? Oh, hell no. I’m too old for this as it is. There’s no way I can…

no, that’s…” he laughed, sounding a little bewildered.

“You mean you’re not going to open another gallery?” The thought honestly hadn’t occurred to me.

I’d just been assuming he’d start over in a better location.

“With what money?”

I raised my eyebrows a little.
“No,” he said, holding up both hands in a gesture of protest. “No, no, no. Absolutely not.”
“I didn’t even say anything,” I protested. “Look, just think it over.”
“You’re sweet,” he said. “But no. Not in a thousand years.”
“Come on,” I said, suddenly infatuated with the idea. “Daniel won’t mind, he likes it when I think

of new and exciting ways to spend his money.”

Curtis was shaking his head emphatically.
“So what are you going to do, then?” I challenged him. “Don’t tell me you’re retiring.”
“With what money,” he said, in a slightly more chagrined tone than last time. “No, I’ll be fine. I

still have plenty of good connections, I’ll find something to do with my time.”

This whole thing just kept getting sadder and sadder. I had a feeling that if Curtis’s wife were still

alive, she’d never allow him to just roll over and accept this fate. But without her around, he didn’t
know what to do with himself.

I had to cut him a certain amount of slack. He was a widower, after all.
For some reason, thoughts of Daniel’s father crept into my head. I didn’t particularly want to be in

the business of making excuses for Walter, but I had to admit - I’d never lived through a tragedy like
that. I couldn’t really pass judgment. Going through a massive dissociative fugue of some kind and
faking one’s own death probably wasn’t one of the acceptable stages of coping with grief, but I
couldn’t really sit in judgment. I tried to imagine what it would be like, watching Daniel slowly waste
away and be powerless to stop it. Even the fleeting thought left me feeling cold inside.

“It’s time to face facts,” Curtis was saying. “My time in this business is over. Everything’s

changing and I never made even the slightest effort to keep up. That’s nobody’s fault but mine. Even if
I wanted to stay in the industry, I wouldn’t know how.”

“Jesus, okay, you want to carve ‘BROOKS WAS HERE’ in the door jamb before you go, too?” I

smiled at him. “Tone down the melodrama.”

“It’s not melodrama, it’s true,” he insisted. “The art world’s moved on without me. This gallery

was one last cozy little outpost for me. No more.” He finally noticed me staring at all the paintings
that lined the walls. “If you’re wondering what Jill would think of this, believe me, the thought’s
occurred to me. More than once. Pretty much constantly.”

“Well?” I prompted him.
He sat down, slowly, like somebody was letting all the air out of him. “I don’t know,” he said. “If

I knew that, this would probably be a lot easier.” He sighed heavily, leaning his head back onto the
chair. “The fact of the matter is, you know - you never really get used to making decisions without
your spouse. Or doing anything. But the other stuff is easier. At first it was almost impossible to get
out of bed in the morning, and turn on the coffeemaker, and start the car, knowing she was gone. There
was, you know, like - this palpable absence. But eventually you just re-learn. It’s like physical
therapy. Or quitting cigarettes. I mean, it hurts a thousand times worse than both of those things
combined, but I think you know what I mean.

“The big decisions, though. They don’t come up often enough that you ever get used to it. I still get

that urge, somewhere in the back of my mind that was never fully convinced that she’s gone. Better
check with Jill. Let’s see what Jill thinks. And no matter how well you know somebody, or how
many years you live together, you can never really be sure. What would she think? I don’t have a clue,
honestly. And that’s hard to admit, you know, but there it is.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, finally, because I didn’t know what else to say.
“It’s all right, trust me,” he said, his smile coming back without much emotion behind it. “You’re

lucky, you know.”

As it happens, I did.

***

“Take me to Plum, please,” I said to John as I climbed into the car.
His face registered surprise, but barely. “Of course.”
I huddled in the backseat, my mind racing and my heart aching. I’d only been to the main offices of

Plum Tech a few times since I’d quit, and it always felt eerie. Like walking into a time machine.

When I stepped out of the elevator into the main office level, I stepped aside for a moment took in

my surroundings. The building and the decor were the same, but I didn’t recognize a single face.

“Hello, Mrs. Thorne,” said the receptionist with a smile. I nodded, trying not to feel unnerved. Of

course she recognized me. Plenty of people recognized me, these days.

I walked down the hall towards Daniel’s office. Nothing had changed; the hallway still smelled

the same, the carpet still felt the same under my shoes.

And yes, his sharp-faced assistant, Alice, was still there.
She gave me a curt nod as I went to the door and pushed it open, not bothering to stop and let

myself be announced.

Daniel was kneeling by the window, watering one of his plants. He’d taken his jacket off and

rolled up his sleeves, and as I slowly shut the door behind me, I saw him reach out and touch the
bottom of one of the leaves, laying it out over his hand and leaning down to look at it more closely.

The click of the door made him look up.
“Is something wrong?” was, of course, the first thing that came out of his mouth. In retrospect, I

probably did nothing to assuage this fear when I rushed to him silently and threw my arms around him,
holding him tightly, resting my head on his chest. He was frozen for a moment, but then he wrapped
his arms around me. By now, I was used to the idea that returning an embrace would never be a reflex
for him.

“No,” I said, finally. “I just love you, that’s all.”
“I love you too,” he said, with a mild surprise still registering in his voice.
I pulled back, looking at his face. The sort of taken-aback expression, and his overall rumpled and

thrown-off appearance, was almost painfully adorable.

“I just wanted to see you,” I said. “I’m sorry if this is a bad time.”
“Yes,” he said, his face finally relaxing into a smile. “I’m very busy with my plants, as you can

see.”

“Well, I’m sorry. They’re just going to have to wait.” It was a strange feeling, being in this room

again - he hadn’t even rearranged the furniture since the first day I’d walked in here and he’d handed
me a contract proposing a fake marriage, with his disgraced lawyer sitting uncomfortably in the
corner.

“It’s nice to know some things never change,” I said.
“Are you referring to me, or the room?”
“Both. Maybe. I’m not sure.” My head was buzzing, and I could feel my throat beginning to grow

dry. But this time, it wasn’t a sign of an impending panic attack. That, I was sure of. “Did you used to
be different, or did I just get to know you better?”

“Both,” he said, with his arms still around my waist, holding me close. The heat of his body was

making my knees feel weak. “I’m an acquired taste.”

“I don’t know,” I said, softly. “Personally, I always liked it.”
He groaned, then laughed. “Okay,” he said, letting his hands slide down to cup my ass. “All right. I

walked right into that one.”

“We never did it here,” I pointed out, looking around the room one more time. “I can’t believe it,

in retrospect. It really would have lent some legitimacy to our story if we’d been caught in here, you
know.”

He smiled indulgently, stepping forward, moving my body along with him, until I was pressed up

against his massive desk. “Alice always knocks first,” he said. “She’s very polite.”

“She hates me,” I said, feeling his body grow even hotter against me.
“I’ve told you a thousand times,” he said. “She doesn’t hate you. That’s just her face.”
“You sure know how to sweet talk a girl, Mr. Thorne.”
He grabbed me tightly around the waist and lifted me up to sit on the desk. “All the same,” he said.

“I managed to snare you, didn’t I?”

I spread my legs for him as he leaned in and kissed me, open-mouthed, hot and insistent.

Sometimes I still marveled at how well our bodies seemed to fit together; like we’d been made for
each other, if I believed in that sort of thing. Which I didn’t. Absolutely not. Absolutely, positively…

Oh…
“I think this is how I first imagined being with you,” I whispered, as he kissed his way down my

neck. He chuckled, and I felt it against my skin.

“Dry humping on my desk? That’s very romantic.”
“You know me,” I whispered. “But it’s not going to stay dry, is it?”
“How long after we first talked?” he murmured, unbuttoning my blouse. “How long before you

first thought about it?”

I felt a hot blush creeping across my face and chest. I just stared at him, until he looked up and met

my eyes.

“That soon?” he said, with a wicked grin.
“Shut up,” I muttered, as he pushed my skirt farther up my thighs. “Why don’t you put that mouth to

good use?”

“Watch that sass, Ms. Wainright,” he growled, his fingers digging sharply into my legs. “You just

can’t help yourself, can you?”

My mouth quirked. “Are you really not aware of the effect you have on women?”
He shook his head, chuckling. “Stop making excuses for yourself, you…wanton…” he was sinking

to his knees, slowly, and my breath caught in my throat. “…wicked…girl.” He sank his teeth into my
inner thigh. I shrieked.

“There,” he said, smiling up at me. “Now everyone will know what we’re doing in here.”
“I don’t think we have anything to prove anymore,” I said, breathlessly. “Especially not once…oh,

my God, Daniel, you…your…” My fingers were clutching the edge of the desk so hard it hurt, but I
couldn’t help it; something about this angle was so deliciously, toe-curlingly good that I absolutely
couldn’t control my reactions. I let out a low groan, my body quivering and shaking in stark contrast
to his small movements and gentle ministrations.

The thought occurred to me: if he’d done this to me on that first day, what felt like so long ago - I

would have married him for free.

I came laughing.
He stood up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, which had come unrolled at some point. “I didn’t

realize you found this so amusing,” he said, unzipping.

“I don’t,” I managed to say, circling an arm around his waist and pulling him close again. “Sorry. I

just…it’s hard to explain.”

“So many things about you are hard to explain,” he whispered, grasping my ass firmly and scooting

me further over to edge of the desk, until he was nudging at my entrance. “I like it that way.”

I made a soft noise, pushing my hips forward to meet him halfway. I never got tired of the way his

face changed in that moment, the way his eyes would suddenly soften and unfocus a little bit, like
every time, every single time, he forgot how good it felt.

“Ms. Wainwright,” he whispered in my ear, moving slowly inside me. “What a surprising turn of

events this has taken.”

I swallowed, tilting my head back. “You know I can’t…I just can’t resist you.” I moaned. “Mr…

Mr. Thorne.”

His movements grew sharper and faster, and I could feel myself start to slide along the desk. I

locked my ankles around him, doing my best to keep up until he stilled, quivering, his breathing harsh
and heavy in my ear.

We stayed like that for a few minutes, until he finally pulled away, kissing me gently on the lips.
He went around to the other side of his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a wad of tissues,

half of which he handed to me. “Want to stay for lunch?” he asked, with an indulgent smile.

“Sure,” I said. “It would be nice to relax a little bit before I have to do the walk of shame back

through those halls.”

“Shame? What on earth do you have to be ashamed about?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Absolutely nothing.”
“So what brings you into town?” he asked, re-buttoning his sleeves. “I mean, aside from the

obvious.”

“I was at the gallery. Tried to convince Curtis he should open another one, but I think he’s

opposed.” I tugged my skirt back down to an acceptable level. “I offered to, you know, invest in it or
something but I think it still feels like a handout to him. And more than that, I think he feels like he’s
lost touch with the art industry. You know, the whole community. He doesn’t like the idea of coming
to terms with that, so I guess it’s easier to just quietly fade away.”

“What, do you want me to try and talk him out of it?” Daniel was re-tucking his shirt. “I know even

less about the art industry than he does, I doubt that would be very persuasive.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It just makes me sad. It feels like he’s giving up.”
“There is such a thing as a graceful surrender,” said Daniel. “Speaking of which, it’s my cheat

day. How does Italian sound for lunch?”

“Ugh, you and your cheat days.” I smiled, settling down in the chair opposite his desk. “I don’t

think it would hurt you to eat pasta more than once a week. You’re skin and bones.” It wasn’t true, of
course. Although even in well-tailored suits, he did look quite thin. Outside of them, though, his
muscles hardly looked underfed.

Daniel grinned. “I’ll take that under consideration,” he said, picking up his phone. “Alice, can you

order the usual from Gentile’s, plus a fettuccine alfredo with grilled chicken?” He eyed me, and I
nodded approvingly. “Thanks very much.”

Ten

The morning of my next meeting with Walter, I woke up with a knot in my stomach.
I didn’t know why I was so nervous. I could deal with him. I knew I could. It was just that he was

insufferable, and I was very tired, and all I wanted was for him to just wake up and realize what an
ass he was being.

“You feeling all right?” Daniel asked as he gathered up his briefcase and jacket, watching me lift

spoonfuls of yogurt and drop them back into the container. He had an important shareholder’s meeting
today that was going to take up the whole afternoon, and I knew he was in a hurry to go in and get
some work done before then.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
“You know, you can call Walter and cancel.”
I stirred my yogurt halfheartedly. I didn’t like it when he called his dad “Walter,” but I couldn’t

really blame him for not wanting to call the guy “dad.”

“I’m not going to cancel,” I insisted. “I need something to do with my time.”
“Don’t forget there’s leftover alfredo in the fridge,” he called over his shoulder, heading for the

door. “You should eat that soon. Especially considering…just make sure to heat it thoroughly.”

“Okay?” I looked at him questioningly.
“You know,” he said, waving his hand vaguely. “Microbes and…food poisoning, or whatever.

You have to be careful, in your state.”

I had to chuckle a little. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Just - make sure to heat it up, would you?”
“Fine, fine, I will,” I said. I had no intention of eating food ever again, but I wasn’t going to argue.
“Love you,” he said.
“Love you too.”
The door clicked shut. I wandered over to the living room and flopped down on the sofa. I had

about an hour before Walter was supposed to arrive, and just wanted to rest my eyes for a minute.

The buzzing of the door shook me into full awareness. I shook my head, sitting up. What the hell

was going on?

I groped for my phone. Shit. I’d slept for the whole hour, and then some.
“Just a minute,” I yelled, jumping to my feet. “Sorry, I’m running a little behind.”

I ran upstairs and quickly stepped into some halfway decent clothes, then ran back down and threw

the door open, breathless.

Walter looked a little amused. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be, I just lost track of time. Come in.”
We settled down in our usual spots, and just as I uncapped my pen, he started to talk.
“Last time, you asked me if I ever noticed that Danny was different,” he said. “I said I didn’t

really. But that’s not true. I just remembered something.”

“Great,” I said. “Tell me all about it.”
“For his birthday, one time, we managed to get him one of those, you know, one of those video

game things.” He was making a series of vague gestures with his hands. “Nintendos.”

“Sure,” I said.
“It was secondhand, from my boss’s son. I don’t generally accept charity, but he was ranting and

raving about how he’d just got it, what seemed like yesterday, and already his kid was turning up his
nose and wanted something new. He was going to buy the new one, of course, but he just hated the
idea of throwing out a perfectly good Nintendo. He asked me if I’d have a use for it, and of course I
played it off, but it occurred to me that it would be an awfully nice present for Danny without having
to worry about how we were going to pay for it. I said sure, maybe, my kid likes taking things apart
and putting them back together again. I bet he’d have fun with it.”

Walter smiled. “And it was true, he did. But this - I mean, clearly, this was something special, for

us. I had to sneak it home and hide it up in the little overhead space where he couldn’t reach unless he
stood up on my shoulders. It was still a few months to his birthday, but me and Laura were thrilled.
We put a little extra money on the credit cards because we knew his birthday was taken care of.

“Well his birthday comes around, and little Danny nearly blows a blood vessel he’s so excited

over it. My boss gave me all the games, too, because his kid didn’t have any use for those anymore
either. Pretty great birthday, I think. Of course he was always plugging it into my TV whenever I
wanted to watch my shows, but hey. Whatever keeps the kid happy, right?

“Then one day I go into the living room and I notice it’s gone. It’s been sitting in front of the TV

forever and I’m always almost tripping on it, so it’s pretty noticeable. Why would it be gone? You
can’t play it without the TV, which I know because Danny and I have had some pretty heated
arguments about it. So I head over to the kids’ room to see if I can figure out what’s going on. And
what do you think I see when I get in there?”

He paused, and looked at me. I shook my head.
“I can’t imagine,” I said.
“The little bastard really did take it apart! He’s got little bits and pieces strewn all over his

bedspread. Screwdrivers, little needle-nose pliers, he’s got my whole toolbox unpacked and he’s just
performing surgery on this thing. This two hundred dollar toy.” He was getting angry just thinking
about it. “And that’s in early ‘90s dollars, okay, don’t forget.”

“But you didn’t pay for it,” I said, quietly.
“That’s not the point!” Walter was starting to get agitated, then he seemed to shake it off and laugh

a little. “Anyway, whatever, so I’m ridiculously pissed off, as you can imagine. I start yelling at him
to explain himself, what the hell does he think he’s doing. He wants to know how it works. Of course
he starts crying, because he realizes he’s done something bad. I don’t know what the hell he was
thinking. Like I wasn’t going to catch him? Like I wouldn’t notice that stupid hunk of plastic missing
from the living room?” He laughed again, but it sounded forced. “He pulls out this…this business
newspaper or something, which, where the hell did he even get that, you know? He pulls it out and

she shows me some statistic in there about their sales.

“He’s been doing calculations. Trying to figure out how much profit he could make if he built

something like this. The words that are coming out of this kid’s mouth, I swear, I don’t even
understand half of them. Where the hell is he picking up this shit? Anyway, I made him put it back
together before bed. I wasn’t going to let that thing sit out overnight and get dust in it, or God knows
what. I couldn’t believe it at the time, but thinking back…I guess it sort of makes sense, doesn’t it?
That he was thinking that way, even when he was just a kid.”

I swallowed a lump in my throat. “It does make sense,” I said. “It makes a lot of sense.”
“Huh,” said Walter, rubbing his face and raking his fingers through his hair. “It almost makes me

feel bad, now.”

I waited, quietly, for something resembling a breakthrough.
“But,” he said. “How could I have known? It just seemed ridiculous to me at the time. Honestly it

still does. All this…technology crap. Everyone’s plugged in all the time, to something. But I guess
that’s just how things are now. It’s not going to change anytime soon.”

“No, it’s not,” I agreed.
He looked at me. “I can tell you don’t approve,” he said. “But hindsight’s twenty-twenty.”
“Did it work, after he put it back together?”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” Walter chuckled. “He would have regretted it, if it didn’t.”
I didn’t say anything, but he could obviously read my face.
“Oh, come on!” he snapped. “Don’t start with that. I’m not going to get into an argument with you

about how I disciplined my son.”

“I don’t want to argue,” I said, as calmly as I could manage.
“You gonna write me up as a child abuser now?” said Walter, his voice growing louder and

louder. “That makes everything more interesting, doesn’t it?”

I just looked at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, after a minute. His breathing started to slow down. “I’m just…this is all…

this is all new to me. I haven’t thought about a lot of this stuff in years and years.”

“I’m not here to judge you,” I said. “I just want to tell Daniel’s story. And I want you two to figure

out some way to make things work. I don’t know what that is, but if I can help in any way, I’m going
to.”

“He’s too stubborn,” said Walter. “He’s never going to change. He thinks he knows best, and

nothing’s going to change that.”

“He said some very similar things about you,” I pointed out. I was beginning to grit my teeth.
“And you’re taking his side,” said Walter, rolling his eyes a little. “Of course.
I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Did you come back to reconcile, or did you come back because you

thought he couldn’t manage his life without you? Because he’s done just fine for himself, so far.” The
anger was roiling inside my stomach. Somehow, the idea of Walter being so disrespectful towards
Daniel made me even angrier than my parents doing the same thing to me.

I could tell I was starting to get through to him. “Daniel always thought he knew best. He’s been

that way his whole life. He needs to learn how to accept someone else’s guidance.”

“Can’t imagine how he got like that,” I muttered, scribbling heavily on the page.
“I’m sorry, Madeline?” Walter was starting to raise his voice.
“You heard me,” I snapped back. I really hadn’t intended for things to go so far south, but I simply

couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

Walter crossed his legs at the knee and considered for a moment before he spoke again. “I’m

entitled,” he said, finally. “I’ve been alive for longer than both of you combined. I don’t care how
Daniel presents himself to everybody else, I know who he really is. I taught him everything he knows.
He’s not half as smart as he thinks.”

If I’d been using a pencil, I would have snapped it in half by now.
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to accomplish,” I managed to say, finally.
He shrugged. “I’m just trying to get you to see things from my perspective,” he said. “But I’m not

surprised that you can’t.”

I slammed my notebook shut. “You’re treating him like he’s still a child!” I shouted.
He actually half-stood from his chair, his nostrils flaring. “I’m his father. He’s my son. I don’t

need any better reason than that,” he snarled.

My jaw was clenched so hard it hurt.
“Sorry,” I said, as softly as I could manage. “That’s just not going to cut it anymore.”
He’d settled back down, and he was drumming his fingers on his thigh, just like Daniel. “I don’t

expect you to understand,” he said, maddeningly calm again. “You don’t have children.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” I let out a long breath, and flipped to a fresh page in my notebook. “I

apologize for getting so far off track. Let’s get back to business.”

“Yes, let’s.” His tone was withering.
I was trying to start writing something - I wasn’t sure what - but somehow I couldn’t quite wrap

my brain around the motion of moving my hand across the page. It seemed impossible. I couldn’t
remember how to start. I felt shaky and cold. My pulse seemed to be thrumming too weak - too fast. I
stood, abruptly, and only had an instant to realize what a mistake that was before black spots started
swimming in front of my eyes. I swayed, feeling as if my head were starting to float away from my
body.

“Madeline. Madeline.” I heard Walter’s voice, sounding very distant and strange like he was

talking on an old-fashioned telephone. The last thing I felt before my vision went black was his hand
closing around my wrist.

***

“Why am I on the floor?” My lips felt dry and sluggish. I tried to raise myself up on my elbows,

but a gentle touch on my shoulder stilled me.

“Madeline, you fainted. It’s all right. You’re going to be fine.”
I stirred. My limbs felt very heavy. I managed to lift my head a little, and I saw that he’d slid a

pillow under my ankles. Feet above the head; someone remembered their first aid training. I wanted
to laugh, for some reason, but it came out as a dry cough.

“Here,” said Walter, pushing the pillow out of the way and sliding his arm under my back. “Try

and sit up, if you can. Slowly.”

He guided me to sit up so that I was leaning against the wall.
“When was the last time you ate?” he wanted to know.
I looked up at him. He’d turned completely businesslike, but not brusque. There was compassion

there. I wasn’t sure why that surprised me.

“I, uh…” I swallowed dryly. He was getting a bottle of water from the fridge. “I haven’t.”
He came back, untwisting the cap on the bottle of water and handing it to me. There was a box of

saltines tucked under his arm, and when I was done drinking, he tore open a sleeve, pulled out a
cracker, and handed it to me.

“You were out for less than a minute,” he said. “I can take you to the hospital anyway, if you want.

It might be a good idea. Considering.”

“Considering what?” I said, around a mouthful of cracker crumbs.
He gave me a withering look that I’d seen on Lindsey’s face, more than once. “Madeline, give me

some credit. There’s no point in trying to hide it.”

I took another drink from the bottle to wash down some of the saltines. “We were just going to

wait a little longer,” I said.

“Yeah, well.” He was crouching there beside me, and he didn’t seem too uncomfortable with the

position, which I thought was pretty admirable for a man his age. I was struck again by how different
his speech patterns were from Daniel’s, while still being - in some vague, indefinable way -
incredibly similar. It was like Daniel had done everything he possibly could to try and separate
himself from his past. Speaking with measured precision, showing off his impressive vocabulary
whenever he had the opportunity. Being formal when informal would have sufficed. But still, even
with all that, he couldn’t quite shake off his father’s influence. “Want me to call Danny?”

“No,” I said. “He’s in a big meeting. Can’t be disturbed. Emergencies only.”
“I think this might qualify,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“I doubt it,” I said. “I’m fine now.”
Walter smiled. “Thatta girl.” But his tone wasn’t nearly as condescending as I would have

expected.

“Thanks,” I said, after a moment.
Walter sat down, slowly. “For what?”
“I don’t know.” I pulled out another cracker and contemplated it. “Not…letting me crack my head

on something, I guess.”

“Well, you’re very welcome.”
I swallowed, and cleared my throat.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“For?” Walter raised his eyebrows a little.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” I did feel kind of bad about it, in retrospect. Not that he didn’t deserve

it, but I still should have been able to control myself better.

I half expected him to make some joke about pregnancy hormones, or otherwise write it off. Write

me off. But instead, he just looked thoughtful for a moment.

“I know I can be unpleasant sometimes,” he said, with a bluntness that, in retrospect, shouldn’t

have surprised me. “It’s just…I guess it’s just a habit, at this point. Some people bite their nails. I’m
an asshole. We all have our, you know, our hobbies.”

“Have you ever considered just…not being one?” I set the bottle of water down on the floor

beside me. “It’s not too hard.”

“It’s surprisingly hard when you’re not used to being any other way,” he said, standing up and

coming over to extend his arm to me. “Hospital?”

“I guess,” I said. I wasn’t too keen on the idea, but he was probably right. I should get checked out,

just in case.

“Think you can walk?”
“Most likely.”
He escorted me out to his car, a heavily used station wagon that smelled faintly of old cigarettes. I

kept the window rolled down for the drive. We went to the non-emergency door and the check-in
didn’t take as long as I’d feared.

“This your father?” one of the orderlies asked, nodding towards Walter.
“In law,” I said, realizing this was the first time I’d ever acknowledged his existence to anyone

outside of the family. If any paparazzi happened to be lurking around the corner in the chapel, this
story was going to blow up.

Or maybe not. Thinking back on it, I wasn’t confident that Daniel ever discussed his parents in

interviews. It might just as easily have been one of those topics he carefully avoided, like the lawsuit
all those years ago when he’d still been in college, and one of his “buddies” accused him of stealing a
prototype design that eventually became Plum’s first bestselling phone.

“Everything looks fine, as far as I can tell,” the doctor said, after they’d finished poking and

prodding at me for a while. “It’s actually not that uncommon to lose consciousness when you’re
pregnant, even during the first trimester. It’s a combination of blood sugar and rapid blood pressure
changes that go along with your veins expanding. If you went without eating for a while and then stood
up suddenly after sitting still for a long time, that sounds like a perfect storm. I wouldn’t look for any
more complicated explanations than that.”

I nodded. Walter, in the chair besides me, was nodding too.
“Just make sure you eat something every few hours, even if it’s just something small, and keep

yourself hydrated too. And whenever you stand up, try to do it slowly and gradually to give your body
time to adjust.” The doctor snapped his chart shut. “I’ll tell the nurse to get your discharge papers
ready.”

“This is humiliating,” I muttered, after the door shut behind him. “Not even twelve weeks pregnant

and I’m already turning into an invalid.”

“Oh, it’s not all that bad,” said Walter. “Laura had preeclampsia the second time around. She was

on bed rest for two straight months.”

“Oh, God,” I groaned, leaning my head back on the pillow. “Is it too early to put me in twilight

sleep?”

I realized, belatedly, that Laura must be Daniel’s mother. Her name had never come up.
“About thirty years too late, I think.” Walter was smiling. “And quite a few months too early for

one of those spinal doohickeys. Actually, you know, when Lindsey was born, we had to look around
for a hospital that would promise us a natural birth. It wasn’t quite out of practice yet, to completely
knock ‘em out so they had no memory of even having a kid. Laura had a friend who went through it.
She declined the shot, but they gave it to her anyway. I guess when they do it, they strap them down to
the bed. She had bruises on her arms and legs when she came to, and the whole story terrified Laura.
She wouldn’t agree to give birth in any hospital until she’d conducted extensive interviews with
practically the whole staff.”

“God damn,” I said. I reached for my phone. “I wonder if Daniel’s out of his meeting yet. I

guarantee he’s going to be offended that I didn’t call him, even though everything’s fine.”

“I’ll let you get changed,” said Walter, standing up and heading for the door. “Meet me in the

lobby.”

By the time he’d driven me home and helped me settle on the sofa, insisting on staying until Daniel

got home, I realized I’d gotten to know Walter surprisingly well in these last few hours. As he
washed the glasses in the sink, I contemplated what a strange turn the day’s events had taken.

“You need some real food,” he came out and announced at one point, drying his hands on a

dishtowel. “What sounds good?”

I shrugged. I still didn’t really feel hungry, but the doctor had told me to make sure and eat. Then, I

remembered something.

“There’s leftover alfredo in the fridge,” I said. “I could probably have that.”
“Sure,” said Walter, heading over to dig it out. “I’ll make sure to heat it up real good. Don’t want

to be responsible for you getting some weird pregnancy sickness.”

I found myself smiling.

Eleven

Daniel stopped dead in his tracks after opening the front door.
“Dad?” he said, looking at Walter with utter confusion.
“Hope your meeting went well,” Walter said, coming over to shake his hand. Daniel did,

reluctantly. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“I just…I assumed you’d be gone before I got home,” Daniel replied, tightly. He dropped his

briefcase on the floor.

“I was planning on it,” said Walter. “But then your wife took a little spill. She’s fine, don’t worry,

the baby’s fine. Guess she didn’t eat breakfast this morning and her blood sugar, or her blood
pressure, or both - took a big dip. We already went to the hospital. Three thousand dollar bill to hear
‘make sure to eat some food occasionally.” He smiled. “But that’s your problem, not mine.”

It took a moment for all of this to sink in. “Maddy,” said Daniel sharply, coming over to me. I was

reclining on the sofa. “Why the hell didn’t you call?”

“Because I was fine,” I insisted, as he knelt beside me. “It was just stupid of me not to eat

breakfast.”

“Jesus Christ.” Daniel’s eyes darted all over my body, as if he were looking for some source of

the problem. “Are you sure that’s all it is? Did they run tests?”

“Did you hear what I said?” Walter cut in. “Three thousand dollars. That wasn’t just for the paper

gown, I’m pretty sure.”

“Thank you,” Daniel snapped. “Would you mind if I had a conversation with my wife for a

minute?”

“Sure, sure.” Walter picked up his jacket. “It’s time for me to get out of here anyway.”
“Thank you, Walter,” I called after him as he left, but the only answer I got was the sound of the

door slamming.

“You could have been a little more considerate,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows. “He

drove me to the hospital, and then stayed with me all day.”

“What, you mean he fulfilled the basic requirements for being a decent human being?” Daniel

slumped down on the floor before I had a chance to move my feet. “I’ll be sure to send him a fruit
basket.”

“He was very nice,” I said. “Eventually.”

Daniel craned his neck to look at me. “And what does that mean? Eventually?”
“Well, things got a little heated when I was trying to interview him. But once I passed out…”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Daniel twisted his whole body around. “You were fighting with him just

beforehand?”

“Well, not just. We’d kind of…we were trying to switch gears and get back to business.”
“But you were agitated,” Daniel insisted. “He upset you.”
“I…yes, I guess so.”
“God damn it!” he shouted. I winced. “This only happened because of him!”
“Of course it didn’t. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You mean to tell me if he hadn’t come over, if he hadn’t been…Walter, you still would had your -

episode?”

“Maybe! I don’t know!” I struggled to sit up straighter. “Daniel, please. Don’t go down this road.

Blaming him for this isn’t going to get you anywhere. And besides, in case you missed this little
footnote, I’m fine.”

“Yes, but what if you hadn’t been?”
“He would have taken care of me. What if it happened and he hadn’t been here? I could have hit

my head on something. Who knows? There’s no use in speculating.”

Daniel was fuming. “All the same, I don’t want you meeting with him anymore. Nothing good can

possibly come of it.”

“Actually,” I said, sensing that switching tracks was the only way to get out of this conversation,

“I’m getting some decent stories from him.”

He sighed, leaning back against the sofa. “Well,” he said. “I suppose that makes it all

worthwhile.”

“He told me about you taking apart ‘the Nintendo.’”
Daniel half-smiled. “Oh, yeah,” he said, softly, his voice taking on a slightly different tone. “I’d

almost forgotten about that. It was already outdated by the time I got it. It wasn’t in the box, either, so
thinking back I’m sure it was a hand-me-down. But what a birthday that was.”

“It was a hand-me down,” I said. “From his boss’s son.”
“Oh, that makes sense. They always had money. I’m sure he got the next one as soon as it hit the

stores.”

I relaxed a little, leaning my head back on the armrest.
“Did he tell you about the time I took it apart?”
I swallowed. “Yeah,” I said. “We don’t have to talk about that right now, if you don’t want.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “It was such a long time ago. Barely even feels like it happened. I’d forgotten

until now.”

“He sounded pretty regretful about his reaction,” I said. “In hindsight. He recognizes it was a sign

of you becoming…well, you.”

“At the time, though, he thought it was frivolous.” Daniel exhaled. “I remember it now, very

clearly, I can’t believe I ever forgot - he was yelling so loud his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
‘I’ll be god damned if any son of mine turns into some ridiculous fuckin’ Willy Wonka toy-maker!’
He thought it was a fad. Everything’s always a fad to people with no vision.”

I stared at the ceiling. “He just wanted you to have a nice gift that he wouldn’t have to worry about

paying off,” I said. “He was afraid you’d ruined it, and you’d be sad.”

“He hated that thing.” Daniel chewed on the edge of his thumbnail. “Always threatened to throw it

in the garbage if I didn’t unplug it so he could watch his shows.”

We were both silent for a long time after that.

***

At my twelve-week appointment, I made sure to tell them about the fainting incident. They all

agreed with the doctor I’d seen - nothing to be terribly concerned about, as long as it didn’t keep
happening, and everything else looked just fine.

The ultrasound pictures were a trip and a half. I couldn’t quite conceptualize the whole thing,

looking at them on a monitor in a cold room while Daniel squeezed my hand with an unreadable
expression on his face, and I tried to ignore the persistent urging of my bladder. But after we got home
and he was spreading the prints out on the coffee table, staring at them like they were the Rosetta
Stone, I took another look.

Holy fucking shit, there was a tiny human inside me.
Daniel was tracing the outline of a face with his index finger. They said it was a girl, with a fifteen

percent margin of error. It really just looked like a blob to me. A vaguely baby-shaped blob. We’d
paid extra for the intensely freaky 3D pictures, rather than the traditional X-ray style ones, and I was
really starting to regret it.

I rested my hand on my stomach. I could feel the bump now, and in certain clothes, I could see it.

But still, it was hard to believe that our little daughter was living comfortably in there.

“This is freaking me out,” I said. “I don’t mind saying.”
“I think it’s amazing,” said Daniel, softly.
“Sure,” I said. “But you’re not the one with the person growing inside you. It’s a little bit hard to

wrap my head around.”

“Just take it one day at a time.” Daniel was holding one of the pictures up to the light.
“Oh, gee, thanks. That’s very helpful.” I got up and went out to the kitchen. I needed a break from

terrifying ultrasound images.

“Do you want to call Lindsey?” he asked. “Or should I?”
“If you call again, she might not pick up,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
The call ended up going to her voicemail anyway. “Hey, Lindsey, call me back when you get a

chance. I’ve got something to tell you.” I paused. “It’s not about…the other thing. You’re going to
want to hear this. Talk to you soon.”

My phone started ringing almost immediately after I hung up.
“What? What? WHAT?” Lindsey shrieked.
“Guess,” I said, smiling.
“YOU’RE PREGNANT.”
“Apparently,” I said, pulling the phone away from my ear and turning it on speaker.
“OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. IT’S TRUE.” There some kind of loud, unidentifiable noise in the

background. “How far along?”

“Twelve weeks,” said Daniel, coming over. “They think it’s a girl.”
“OH MY GOD!”
“I’ll send you some of the ultrasound pictures,” Daniel went on. “Maddy can’t look at them

anymore. It’s going to give her nightmares.”

“Fuck off,” I said, grinning at him. “Lindsey, seriously, you need to come down and visit. I’ve got

all this wine I can’t drink. I want to give it to you.”

“Uh, obviously I’m coming to visit!” There was a moment of silence. “What’s the situation with…

you know, everything else?”

“He’s still in town,” Daniel said. “We don’t have to tell him you’re here, if you don’t want.”

Lindsey let out a gigantic sigh. “I just don’t know what to do, Danny. Of course I want to see him

again, you know? I want to hug him, and punch him, and kick him in the testicles. But I don’t know if
any of those things is a good idea.”

“He never was much of a hugger,” Daniel said, smiling. “Well, I’m sure he’d love to see you.”
“Ugh.” Lindsey sighed again. “But, you know, that’s great news. About the baby. I’m really excited

for you. But I guess that article I saw was a little bit off on the timing, wasn’t it? You must barely be
showing now.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t a real baby bump,” I said. “Just an unfortunate angle, and a hell of a

coincidence.”

“I figured,” said Lindsey. “That’s why I didn’t bug you about it. I mean, how insulting, right? Your

own sister in law believing news about your life from a tabloid. I figured you’d tell me when you
were ready.” There was a slight noise, like her shifting the phone to the other side. “Danny, how are
you taking it?”

“Fine,” said Daniel, looking remarkably complacent to fit his tone. “Just fine. It was a bit of a

shock at first, we weren’t planning it. But all things considered, you know, I’m happy.”

“Well, that’s just great,” said Lindsey. “Look, I’ve got a meeting, I need to go, but I’m going to

figure out when I can get away and come down for a visit as soon as I can. Okay?” She hesitated.
“Don’t tell dad for now. I’m not sure about that yet.”

“Of course,” said Daniel. “See you soon.”
She hung up, and I still couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.
“Are you happy?” I asked, looking at Daniel. I knew the answer. I just wanted to hear it.
“Of course,” he said. “Of course I am.” He reached across the table and took my hand. “Seriously,

for a girl, you don’t like Lila?”

“It sounds like…I don’t know.” I frowned. “It’s almost sinister, isn’t it? Like a demon or

something.”

“That’s Lilith, dear.”
“Well, that’s still too close.” I shook my head. “I don’t know. I have no idea. I don’t want to

saddle her with something she’ll hate.”

“Catherine is nice and versatile.”
“And boring.”
“You’re incredibly picky.” He frowned. “What about Olivia?”
“It’s so formal-sounding, don’t you think?”
“Christ.”
“Look, we’ve got plenty of time to figure it out. Why don’t you whittle it down to a top ten on your

own time, and then I can shoot them all down later.” I smiled at him. “Besides, it might still be a
boy.”

“If it is,” said Daniel, “let’s never speak of these few weeks when we were convinced he was a

girl.”

I laughed for a solid minute and a half.

***

I stopped by the gallery again, armed with a few coffees - decaf for me - and hoping to have

another conversation with Curtis, in which he might be a little more easily persuaded.

Walking through the main room, I couldn’t help but notice all the red dots on so many of the

pieces. A seed of an idea was growing in the back of my mind.

“Maddy,” he said, when he saw me, “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“I was in the neighborhood, just thought I’d stop by,” I said, handing him his drink. “You’re really

selling the place out.”

“Yeah, it’s amazing how many people turn out when they hear the phrase ‘going out of business.’”

He sat down, and as I took off my coat, I noticed his eyes drifting to the increasingly obvious bulge in
my stomach.

“Okay,” I said. “So elephant in the room, yes, I’m pregnant.”
“Oh my God,” he jumped up and ran over to me, hugging me sideways. “Honey, that’s so great.

Congratulations.”

“It’s a little bit overwhelming,” I said. “We weren’t exactly…”
“Well, you’ll get used to the idea, I’m sure,” said Curtis. “How’s your husband taking it?”
“He’s sort of…” I had to search for the right word. “…in awe, I think. He’s scared to, but he

seems to be taking to the idea. They say it’s a girl, probably.”

“A little girl,” he said. “Wow.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s a lot to think about. A girl, especially. There’s just so much pressure.

How do you even raise a little girl in this world? I mean, I know how not to, thanks to my parents. But
aside from that? God. I keep feeling like I’m going to make some kind of huge, horrible mistake.”

“I might be totally off-base with this,” said Curtis, “but I’ve always thought that the fear of making

a huge mistake will usually keep you humble enough to be a good parent. That’s the trick, I think,
really. You have to stay in awe of the fact that you have so much influence over another person’s life,
rather than taking it for granted and getting drunk on the power of it.”

“That’s a great way to put it.” I smiled. “Daniel’s father, he…he was power-tripping pretty hard,

from the sounds of it. My parents kind of did the same thing. Didn’t want to let me make any decisions
about my own life.”

“It’s hard,” said Curtis. “Believe me, it’s hard.”
“I didn’t know you had kids.”
He raised his index finger. “Just the one. A daughter, as it happens. She’s…she’s very happy,

she’s doing her thing. She’s nothing like me. Or her mother, really. Don’t know where that one came
from.” He was smiling, but I could tell there was something beneath the surface. “Works for the
government. I’m very proud of her. But…yeah, you know, there were times when I wanted to ‘put my
foot down’ and tell her she was making the wrong decision. Because I was sure it was wrong. Which
it would have been - for me. And sometimes, it was the wrong decision for her, too. But she had to
make it herself. She had to figure it out on her own, or she’d never really learn. The last thing I
wanted to do was raise someone who was terrified of making the wrong decision, because then, you
just do nothing.”

I nodded, nursing my decaf.
“Letting go is the hardest thing,” he said. “You don’t ever stop thinking about them. It’s like having

a limb cut off. A piece of you is out there somewhere, and you can’t really control what happens to it.
You find yourself trying to read their minds, sometimes. You want to know what they’re thinking so
you can really help them, really cut through all the bullshit, but you can’t. You just have to trust them
to honest with you, and hope that they trust your advice. And, you know, throw out the stuff that
doesn’t really apply to them.” He paused. “I guess really, at the heart of it, it’s just about accepting
that they’ve grown up.”

“Ugh.” I stretched my legs out in front of me. “I’m so clueless.”
“You’ll figure it out.” He reached over and patted my arm.
“I can’t believe I won’t be able to bring her in here and tell her all about Mommy’s first art

show,” I said. “Because I’m sure she’d find that absolutely fascinating.”

“She’ll be very proud of your art, I’m sure,” said Curtis. “As soon as she’s old enough to

understand what it is.”

I rotated my cup around on the desk, slowly. “Have you thought any more about what we were

talking about last time?” I met his eyes. “About opening a new gallery?”

He shook his head. “Maddy, you can keep barking up that tree all day and all night. It’s not going

to happen. You can get a showing at any gallery you want now, you don’t need to waste any time
worrying about me.”

“I can’t help it,” I said. “You deserve better than this.”
“Evidently, I don’t,” he said. “I made a series of decisions that landed me here. It might not be

‘fair,’ exactly, but I have to accept it.” He looked at me, and smiled. “Don’t get me wrong. I
appreciate what you’re trying to do here. But I’m at peace with it now. I’m done with this business. It
was great fun while it lasted, and it brought me a lot of beautiful things, but there’s no reason to
extend it beyond what it was meant to be.” He let out a long, slow breath. “I’m done, Maddy.”

***

“Now, I don’t normally do maternity.” Emily was fitting a tailor’s tape around my waist. “But, I

was able to make a few phone calls and get in some special orders for you. The problem, of course,
is that by the time any alterations are done, it might not fit anymore and we’re back to square one. It’s
a challenge. Which is, as I said, why we don’t really do maternity.” She stopped and smiled. “But for
you, of course - anything.”

“I appreciate it,” I said, lifting my arms. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to send me on a guilt trip

or not. With Emily, sometimes it was hard to tell.

“I know you’re going to be reasonable about it,” she said, going over to a rack in the corner.

“Which helps. Some women, you know, they get angry, and they don’t want to accept that their body
is changing even though they’re pregnant, of course it’s changing. But you’re not insane, so I’m more
than happy to work with you.”

“That’s very nice to hear,” I said. “Thanks. I always try to be…sane.”
She was making thoughtful little noises as she circled me. “Yeah, it’s like I thought. You’re not

really officially in maternity yet, but you’re going to need more room around the waist. I got a few
things that are in more forgiving styles. Eventually, your bust is going to get bigger too, so we’ll need
to deal with that.”

“Yes,” I said, eyeing the full-length mirror in front of me. “Yes, we will.”
“A lot of women don’t realize,” she said, taking one of the dresses of its hanger, “that you’ll often

still ‘look pregnant’ for while a while after the baby comes. All they see are these Hollywood
pregnancies where they’re back with a personal trainer in a week and don’t allow themselves to be
seen until everything’s back in order. But that’s not realistic. Your entire body’s shifting around,
inside and out.”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling slightly queasy at the idea.
“Sorry,” said Emily. “I don’t mean to lecture you.”
“No, it’s fine. First pregnancy and all.” I smiled. “The amount of information out there is…pretty

overwhelming. I still feel like I don’t know anything, and I’ve spent hours researching.”

“It’s a lot to swallow,” said Emily, zipping me up. “There, what do you think of this one?”
It actually had a similar style to the dress I’d picked for the women’s heart disease event. I could

understand now why people thought I was pregnant. It was much more sleek and modern, though, and
I couldn’t really complain.

“That looks pretty good,” I said. “Feels pretty comfortable, too.”
I tried on a few others, but I didn’t like any of them as much. The options were much more limited

than I’d been expecting, but this was a pretty awkward time - not yet in maternity clothes, but still
beginning to show.

We had to attend another event, this time at Columbia, where Daniel was receiving an honorary

degree. He insisted that I didn’t have to go, but I told him I was absolutely feeling up to it. Privately I
wasn’t so sure, but I knew he needed me there. I couldn’t start begging off things just a few months
into my pregnancy.

I smoothed my new dress over my now-actually-there baby bump, and hoped for the best.

Twelve

Daniel stopped in the middle of chewing. I knew that either meant he had a great idea, or a

horrifying thought.

“What?” I prompted, after a moment of silence.
“I have to invite him,” he said, grimly. “Don’t I?”
“Well,” I said. “It would be a nice gesture.”
“God.” He rested his head on his hands. “Why can’t I just have a normal family?”
“Nobody has a normal family,” I said. “And I’ll invite your dad, if you don’t want to.”
“No, absolutely not. That would be even more of a slap in the face than not inviting him.” He still

hadn’t lifted his head. “He’s going to find a way to be negative about this, no matter how nice I am
about it.”

“Well, you just need to call him out when he gets like that.”
“What, and make him more bitter and defensive?” He looked up, finally. “No thank you.”
“Well if you just keep letting him do it, you’re sending the message that it’s acceptable behavior.”

I shrugged. “So I guess it depends on how much you want him to stop.”

I tried to imagine how I’d feel, if one of my kids didn’t invite me to an honorary degree ceremony

at Columbia. I’d been doing a lot of trying to put myself in Walter’s shoes lately, and it was becoming
easier and easier. I was starting to understand how much of his behavior was rooted in fear and
insecurity. Some part of him knew he’d had many failures as a father, but at the same time, he was
afraid of facing up to the fact. He’d rather be quietly guilty and defensive about it, guarding the
“secret” of his shortcomings that wasn’t really a secret at all.

We met again, a few days later, for another interview. I hadn’t gotten a single thing written for the

autobiography, except for a few pages of scattered notes. I thought we might as well drop the
pretense, but I was afraid if we did, he’d stop talking to me altogether.

“Daniel called me last night,” was the first thing he said to me after taking off his jacket. “He

invited me to see the ceremony at Columbia.”

“Oh, that’s very nice,” I said. “He told me he was going to invite you.”
“He didn’t want to,” said Walter, very matter-of-factly. “I could tell.”
“He wanted to,” I replied. “He was just…”
“Go on,” said Walter.

“He doesn’t like initiating conversations with you, because he feels that your reactions are

generally more negative than they are positive.” I was trying to keep my language clinical and neutral,
as if that would somehow remove the sting. “This is an important accomplishment, and he didn’t want
to hear anything you might say that would tarnish it, in his mind.”

Walter scoffed quietly, but he didn’t have a response.
I decided to keep prodding, as long as I had an audience. “Remember that thing you said, the day I

passed out? About how you didn’t know how not to be an asshole?”

He looked at me. “I don’t think those were my exact words.”
“It’s very simple,” I said. “All you have to do is just stop, before you say something. Stop and ask

yourself how you’d feel if someone said it to you.”

Walter shook his head. “I’m not going to start tiptoeing around people’s feelings,” he said. “I’m

too old for that. If they can’t handle me…”

“Listen,” I said. The sharpness of my own voice surprised me. “I know you think I don’t get it. I

know that. I’m too young, or too childless, or whatever. So if you want to ignore me, feel free. But I
want the same thing you do. I want you and Daniel and Lindsey to be a family again, even if things
aren’t always perfect. I want you guys to be able to talk. But that’s not going to happen unless all of
you take some steps forward. And yeah, Walter, I’m sorry to say it, but you need to take a few more
steps than they do.”

He was just listening, quietly. Somehow this unnerved me more than if he’d started yelling.
“You really hurt them. On more than one occasion. Many, many times. You made Daniel feel

stupid, and you made him doubt himself. You made Lindsey feel unappreciated. I know that’s not
what you meant. I know you just wanted them to have a happy life, and you were worried they were
making the wrong choices. I get it. I do. But they’re adults and they want you to treat them like adults.”
I took a deep breath. “That’s all it is.”

He sat there in complete silence for long enough to completely unnerve me. When he finally spoke

again, his voice was very quiet.

“You’re right about one thing,” he said. “I never meant to hurt them.”
I had no idea, really, if I’d gotten through to him at all. Or if anything I could say ever really

would. But I had to give it a shot. I couldn’t stand being caught in the middle anymore, hearing the
opposing sides of the story, always with the underlying implication: take my side, take my side, take
my side. I was sick of taking sides. Walter was absolutely insufferable, but then again, Daniel could
be too, sometimes. Neither one of them was willing to consider the possibility of true reconciliation.

“Making some mistakes doesn’t make you a failure,” I said, gently. “It’s refusing to acknowledge

or learn from them.”

Walter looked at me, slightly dumbfounded. I couldn’t tell if that was a good sign, or a bad one.
“I understand the conflict,” I said. “I didn’t want to take art classes when I was a kid, because that

would mean admitting I wasn’t perfect. The funny thing was, I knew I was far from perfect. I knew all
my flaws. But somehow, I couldn’t face the possibility of someone else pointing them out to me,
because that would make it ‘real.’ That would mean I was a failure forever. It took me a long time -
too long - to learn that it’s not like that. The only way to ever get better at anything is to admit your
mistakes and learn from them.” I hesitated. “I’m not saying raising a kid is like drawing a picture, but
I think you still have a chance to make things better. It’s not too late.”

Walter was nodding his head in a way that didn’t quite indicate agreement.
“It’s all so easy, isn’t it,” he said. “It’s so easy when you’re on the outside looking in.”
“I know it’s not easy,” I said, quietly. “Once again, and for the millionth time, all I want is for you

and Daniel to be happy.”

“But if you had to choose,” said Walter. “I know whose side you’re on.”
“There are no sides. There’s just you, and your son. And if you don’t do something soon, you’re

going to lose him forever.”

Walter sat there silently for a long time. Then, without another word, he stood up, turned around,

and walked out of the apartment.

I sagged in my chair, feeling tears of frustrating gathering behind my eyes. I couldn’t deal with this

man anymore. I couldn’t deal with either of them. Their stubbornness. Their constant, silent battle
with each other. Their unwillingness to give an inch.

It was true, what I’d said, and I hadn’t realized it until the words came out. If something didn’t

change, Daniel was going to shut off to Walter forever. Walter would never meet his grandchildren,
and Daniel and I would spend the rest of our lives trying not to talk about what had happened.
Wondering where he was, but not wanting to admit it.

And Walter? What would happen to him?

***

I waited for a few days to see if Walter would call me, even though I knew he wouldn’t. On the

morning of the degree ceremony, I finally addressed it with Daniel.

“I don’t think your father’s coming tonight,” I said, quietly, over breakfast.
He just shrugged.
Slipping into my new dress and a pair of earrings I couldn’t remember getting, I tried to forget

everything. There was a sick knot of guilt in my stomach and I knew that it really wasn’t my fault, but
maybe it was, maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut.

Maybe I should have just let things be.
John kept glancing at me in the rearview while we drove, probably wondering if I was going to be

sick. Daniel stroked my arm. I leaned my head against the tinted window, still trying to forget.

More speculative photos had surfaced, but we’d decided I was going to officially announce my

pregnancy tonight to the first person who bothered to ask. It seemed awfully informal to me, but
Daniel assured me that short of getting a Twitter account, this was really the best way to handle things
these days.

It was chilly when we arrived at the hall, you couldn’t quite see your breath in the air, not yet, but

almost. I held onto Daniel’s arm as we walked into the giant, cathedral-like building.

We were quickly escorted to a door around the back, where Daniel and I could get inside without

being hassled by college students. The average charity even was one thing - they usually mobbed the
actors or singers more than anyone. But in this crowd, Daniel was basically Elvis.

I giggled at the thought, but refused to answer when he asked me what was so funny.
After a few minutes, someone escorted me to a reserved seat on the side of the auditorium, far

away from the crowd. I felt many eyes on me, some of them probably recognizing me even in the low
lighting, and others trying to figure out who I was.

Daniel had been preparing his speech for weeks, with one of the kids from creative who had a

knack for pulling that kind of thing together. He’d never performed it in front of me, but by now, I was
confident he knew how to deliver a solid keynote address.

I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat. I hated feeling like I was under a microscope, but there

was really no avoiding it in this kind of crowd. Most of them, by now, had probably either guessed
who I was or Googled me. I made a valiant attempt to suck in my stomach, even as I realized it would

make absolutely no difference.

The most awkward part of this would be listening to the dean or the university’s president

introducing Daniel. When he’d given the keynote at the graduation for a tiny tech school upstate, the
president of the college came out and gave a listing of Daniel’s virtues and accomplishments that was
so flowery I felt embarrassed. I couldn’t imagine how much his ears must burn as he waited off-stage.

Suddenly, I felt someone slide into the seat next to me. At first I thought it must be my chaperone

from backstage, keeping me company, but I didn’t want to turn and look to avoid seeming rude.

“Did I miss anything?” Walter’s voice surprised me.
I stared at him.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry,” said my chaperone, from a few feet away. “He just - he just came in, just

now.”

“Thanks for saving me a spot,” he said, leaning back.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” I muttered, under my breath.
“Well,” said Walter. “I didn’t want to miss this. Considering I’ve missed almost everything else

for the last few years.”

“That’s nice thought,” I said.
Walter nodded, staring at the foot of the stage in front of us.
“You’re very opinionated,” he said, at last.
“Thank you,” I replied.
“And that,” he said, a smile creeping across his face. “‘Thank you.’ That’s why Danny likes you. I

figured it out, didn’t I?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “You’d have to ask him.”
“There’s one thing I won’t argue with you about,” he said. “About losing my son. You said I still

have time, but it’s running out. I thought about it, and I can see you’re right.”

I nodded, seeing the curtain rustle off to the side of the stage.
“There’s a lot of things I could have done differently,” he said. “Looking back, I wish I’d thought

about things more carefully, sometimes. I realized, after what you said - this is one of those times.”
He was chewing on his bottom lip, a gesture I knew very well. “If I don’t play my cards right, I’m
going to lose my chance with him.”

“You’re absolutely right,” I said, softly, as a middle-aged man in a mortar board walked out in

stage. He came up to the lectern, introduced himself as the president of the school, and quickly
launched into what I hoped was going to be the most cringe-inducing part of my night.

“…launched his eventually multi-billion dollar company as a teenager, first headquartered in a

dilapidated frat house with red cups scattered all over the lawn.” He stopped and smiled. “Fourteenth
Ave house, are you out there?” There was a polite chorus of chuckles. “I’d like to point out that I’m
pretty sure that’s just been added to this anecdote for color, the cups on the lawn were not necessarily
integral to his success. Within just a few years, his sales were rising fast enough to make waves in the
technology world. His competitors weren’t worried - at first. But now, the Plum 5 is probably in
about half of the pockets in this room - and the Plum 4.5 in the other half.” He smiled. “Please join me
in extending a warm welcome to Daniel Thorne, here to accept his honorary PhD.”

He came out, robes swishing behind him, smiling and shaking the president’s hand. He took the

framed degree and tucked it under his arm before standing at the lectern.

His eyes scanned the room. When they settled on me, and flickered over to Walter beside me, I

tried to read some change in his expression. But there was none that I could detect.

“For the record, I couldn’t have done it without the red cups,” he said.

The hall roared with laughter.
He had to raise his hand to get them to quiet down. “I was on the fence,” he said, loudly to be

heard over the residual noise, and then everyone finally fell silent. “I was on the fence, about my
topic tonight. I had something prepared, but in light of recent events, it seems silly to talk about that
now.” He paused, let out a long breath, and looked up at the room.

“Just a few short weeks ago, my estranged father came back into my life. I know many of you are

still likely living at home during the summer, and most of you probably still put up with your parents,
in one way or another. But there are some of you out there, I’m sure, who can hardly be in the same
room as their parents without a fight breaking out. Maybe, once you’ve graduated and gotten a job,
you plan to cut down contact to one phone call every other holiday.” He let his eyes fix on the middle
of the room. “Or less.”

Everyone was silent.
“You might think I’m planning to tell you that you should be grateful to have them in your lives,” he

said. “No matter what. But I’m not going to tell you that. I’m just going to tell you about my father.”

He paused for a long moment.
“Growing up, I wanted the same things every little kid wanted. All the latest toys, the video game

consoles - this was back when there were still cartridges, if you’ve ever run across one of those
artifacts in your basement - but there wasn’t always enough money to go around. We never went
without anything that we needed, and there were always presents on holidays. But I never had some of
the things the other kids had.”

He smiled. “Until, one year, my dad managed to get me a Nintendo. I marveled at that thing, even

though it was already a few years out of date. I remember staring at it, turning it over and over and
trying to divine its secrets. At night, all I dreamed about was finding the secret to that device. I
figured it had to make sense, somehow. If someone else could it invent it, I could invent something
like it. It was just a matter of gluing the right parts together in the right order, and suddenly I’d be
making…”

Looking around the room, his smile waned a little.
“But I didn’t know,” he said. “And right away, I realized that was a problem. If I was going to

commit myself to something like this, at the ripe age of eight, I had to have a business plan.”

The room was taken with subdued laughter.
Besides me, I could almost feel Walter cringing. I knew this was a piece of his history that he

wasn’t particularly proud of.

“So I started looking through business magazines and newspapers. I figured someone must have

Nintendo’s sales numbers, somewhere. I was right. There were figures in there, vague ones, not really
intended for the kind of in-depth projection I was doing.” He smiled. “I came up with some numbers
that I liked quite a bit. Obviously, my next step was to find out what made this thing tick.

“I took it apart while my dad was out, even though I was pretty confident that he’d be impressed

with my entrepreneurial skills once I explained my plan. On the other hand, I knew I’d been yelled at
plenty of times for taking things apart that I wasn’t supposed to, so I decided to hedge my bets. Of
course, the whole project took longer than I thought. I wasn’t allowed to use the camera anymore for
semi-related reasons, so I tried to take as many detailed mental ‘snapshots’ as I could, before I put the
thing back together. When he saw what I’d done, my dad didn’t give me a chance to explain at first.
But even when I did, he thought it was ridiculous.

“The point here isn’t to make fun of my dad for not knowing I was going to be Daniel Thorne. No

one could possibly predict that, least of all him. If you met a parent who was convinced that their

child was going to be the next Steve Jobs, you’d find that person insufferable. My dad was never like
that. He kept me grounded. He wanted me to set the kind of goals for myself that I could actually
succeed in. He didn’t want to see me shoot for the stars, only to crash.

“What he wanted for me, more than anything, was to avoid some of the pain that he had

experienced in his own life. All parents are like this, even if they don’t always express it very
clearly. When they fight with you about a decision you’ve made, it’s because they love you. They love
you more than they can bear.

“I’m going to become a father next year.” He gave them a moment to digest this, but the room

stayed silent. “So naturally, I’ve given this issue some thought. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing,
that I can do to make this easier on myself. Already, I find myself consumed with worry. I know once
my daughter’s grown up and moved away, it will only get worse. I won’t be able to protect her
anymore. And no matter how hard I try, I may not always be able to convince her that she’s about to
make the wrong decision.

“And I’m grateful for that. Because I know that I, like my father, and his father before him, and

every father in the world, am going to make mistakes. I am going to be wrong. From time to time, I
will hurt her. She will sometimes look at me and think that I must be the cruelest person in the world.
I don’t want any of this to happen, but I know I can’t stop it. I can look into my feature just as clearly
as if I had a crystal ball

“But I don’t, of course. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t know what my daughter’s future is

going to be, and she will be the only one who can make it happen. There’s no one else in the world
who can choose for her. Not even her mother. Not even me.

“That will be the hardest thing I ever need to come to terms with. All I can hope is that if I go too

far off track, my wife Maddy will let me know.”

He paused, and smiled again.
“You will make mistakes,” he said. “You will all make mistakes in your lives, and not all of them

will be in something as important and raising a human being. But there will be times when you feel
sure you’ve made a mistake that you can’t recover from. You’ll want to give up. You’ll be so
overwhelmed with frustration and fear that you’ll forget something very important.

“If you want it enough, you can always get a second chance.”
I looked over to see Walter’s reaction, and to my complete and utter surprise, his eyes were

brimming with tears.

Thirteen

I’d seen sitting with the phone in my hand for almost half an hour.
So far, I had managed to dial the number twice, and halfway a few times, before I set the phone

back down and got up to pace anxiously. I knew I had a limited amount of time before the news of my
pregnancy would got all the outlets, and if my parents found out from a tabloid before they heard it
from me…well, that was pretty much as good as deciding I never wanted to talk to them again.

“…hello?” My mom always sounded suspicious when she answered the phone.
“Hi, mom,” I said. “It’s me.”
“…hello,” she said, as a statement this time instead of a question.
“Can you get dad on the phone?” I asked. “I want to tell you both something.”
“Oh my God,” I heard my mom say, more to herself than to me. I heard the phone lower slightly.

“Oh my God! Howard! Howard, get over here!”

There was some confused rustling and talking in the background.
“Hello?” said my dad.
“Hi, dad,” I said. My throat was already starting to tighten. “Is Mom there too?”
“Yes, I’m still here,” said my mom, breathlessly.
I cleared my throat. “I’m pregnant.”
“OH MY GOD!” My mom was crying, instantly. And I realized I was crying too.
“Your mother,” said my dad, with a slight quiver in his voice, “your mother was afraid you

wouldn’t tell us.”

“Of course I’d tell you,” I managed. I took a few deep breaths to compose myself. “Are you going

to come visit?”

“Yes, honey, yes,” my mother sobbed. “Of course.”
“I mean, before the baby comes. You…you never got the chance to meet Daniel.”
“I know,” said my father. “We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”
“Stop it, Howard,” my mom wept. “You’ve got me started again.”

***

The next day was Saturday, and I’d just put on my workout clothes and was seriously thinking

about maybe someday eventually doing some kind of deliberate movement with my body. Daniel

walked into the room, tossing something onto the dresser.

“I was thinking,” he said. “Maybe not the week after next, but the one after that. For your parents,”

he clarified. “I’ve got that trade show next weekend, I’d rather not cut it so close.”

“Sure,” I said. “Just decide soon, I have to let them know so they can take the time off.”
“That’s my final answer,” he said, smiling. “What’s wrong?”
This was, most likely, directed at my slightly sad, slightly vacant expression. I hadn’t been able to

hide it as much as I wanted to. Considering how Daniel and his father had managed to come to some
sort of peace, and even Lindsey was headed up to meet with him soon, I couldn’t believe I was
selfish enough to be thinking about my own sex life.

But ever since Daniel had uttered the words “I don’t think I can do this now,” after my panic

attack, we hadn’t done anything remote like “this.” Sex, yes. But nothing like was I’d grown used to,
with him. At the time I had assumed he meant not in this moment, not today. But then I realized he’d
been scared off the whole thing for some indeterminate amount of time, and I never would have
guessed how much I’d miss it.

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling tears gathering in my eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
I did, of course, but I didn’t know how to explain it.
He held me close, and I know he must be dying to ask me what the hell I was talking about. But he

didn’t. He just sat there quietly, stroking my hair, while I searched and searched for the right words to
explain how I felt.

“Things feel…different lately,” I said, finally. “Ever since…”
I lost the words again, and floundered quietly for a moment.
“I know it’s been…” Daniel looked nearly as anxious as I felt. “…since my dad came back, I

know it’s been a bit…but I like to think I’m doing better than the last time we had a crisis.” He
smiled, hesitantly. “Aren’t I?”

“It’s not that,” I said, shaking my head vigorously. “It’s not about your dad.”
“Then what is it?” He put his hands on my shoulders, holding me away so he could look into my

eyes. “The baby?”

I nodded. “Yes. Well, no. When I…after I had my, you know, the panic attack. You said. You said

you didn’t think you could ‘do this.’”

He’d started chewing on his lower lip, looking away from me now. Eyes on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t even like bringing it up. I know it’s not something we really…talk

about. But I feel…it feels so strange, not having it. The way you are with me…it makes me feel safe. I
don’t know why.” I’d never really explored this before; I didn’t talk about it with other people, and
certainly not with him - not until the rope or the toys came out. “It’s not that I can’t handle myself. But
I like not having to, all the time. I like going into a situation where I know I’m going to be told what to
do and I don’t have to think. I don’t have to worry. I can just be. And feel. I know it sounds weird, but
I…”

Daniel finally looked back up at me. “I’m sorry,” he said, softly. “I’m sorry that we don’t talk

about it.”

I shrugged.
“I should be able to,” he said. “We should be able to. But it was always something…” He took a

deep breath. “The first time I realized…well, you remember I told you about that woman. The tantric
expert.”

I smiled. “I do remember her. I’d love to take her out to lunch sometime.”
Daniel winced.

“I’m kidding,” I said. “Probably. Anyway, what about her?”
“I knew I was in trouble. The first time she let me tie that rope around her wrists, and I felt the

way it glided under my hands, and how her arms pulled behind her back, and how…how placid and
happy she got. I knew that was what I wanted. I knew I was going to be addicted to it from then on.
But it’s not the sort of thing you talk about. Or that’s what I thought, at any rate.

“Most of the women I met, they liked it when I would take control. They especially liked it, I think,

because I was ‘quiet.’ So it came as a welcome surprise. I think they saw it as me coming out of my
shell. But really I was always just playing another part.”

He reached out and tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. “But I never want to risk hurting you,”

he said. “I never want to risk pushing you too far. But it’s always felt like talking about it, actually
trying to work something out and make sure we’re all in agreement about how far is too far - would
somehow - I don’t know. Break the spell.”

I shook my head, smiling. “There’s no spell,” I said.
“You’re always saying how you…” he paused, searching for words. “…’can’t say no’ to me. And

I think there’s a part of me that’s afraid that you might really mean that. More than you realize.”

“It’s not true,” I said. “I do this because I want to. I do it because I trust you not to push me too

far.”

He looked bemused. “I’m glad you’re sure I won’t, at least.”
“You’re so careful,” I said. “And always so conscientious. No matter how much you change, I

know you’re always there under the surface. I know I just have to say the word, and you’ll be there.”
I grinned. “Like all those times you’ve accidentally pinched me or leaned on my hair, or…the panic
attack.” I still didn’t like thinking about it, but he needed to be reassured. “I know you think you ‘did
something’ or it’s your fault, but it’s not.”

“I don’t want to risk hurting you,” he said. “In any way. I don’t know what to do. This is

completely uncharted territory for me.”

“Me too,” I said. “And that’s okay. We can start small.”
He looked at me for a long time. I was convinced he was going to back away. Look down.

Apologize. No, no, I can’t do this.

“Close your eyes,” he said, softly.
I was surprised at how quickly I obeyed.
“I’m still here,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you alone.”
I felt my breathing slow. I hadn’t realized it was speeding up. There were so many things I never

realized, or stopped to think about, until he started giving me orders.

“I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you.” His voice was coming from somewhere behind me. “I

promise it won’t happen again.”

I smiled.
“I want you to tell me something you’ve never told me before,” he said. “That one fantasy you’ve

never told anyone.”

Instantly, I felt myself blush hotly.
“Because you think it’s silly,” he said. “Or because you think I wouldn’t want to try it. The thing

that’s popped into your head more than once, but you’ve been too embarrassed to bring it up.”

There was something. It was in the forefront of my mind immediately. It wasn’t even that bad, or

unusual. But the precedent with our relationship, I now realized, had never made me feel like I was
“allowed” to choose the direction of our bedroom activities. He would introduce things - suggest
them - and while it was always within my power to say no, he never asked me what I wanted. I could

have spoken up any time I wanted to, but it felt so strange and unnatural to do so.

Now, he was demanding that I do it. I realized that this was the only way I was ever going to tell

him. I couldn’t decide which emotion was stronger: the gratitude, or the embarrassment.

“It’s so stupid,” I said. “It’s not even…it’s going to be anti-climactic.”
“Tell me anyway.” His fingers were resting on the junction between my shoulder and my neck.
“You’re going to be horribly disappointed,” I said, and I was pretty sure I was true.
“Maddy, stop.”
I forced my brain to stop racing, telling me over and over again that he was just going to laugh at

me, that I was going to end up humiliated.

I swallowed.
“I want you to…”
His fingers brushed along my shoulders, and the outsides of my arms. It was such a light,

comforting touch, just enough to remind me that he was there.

“Iwanttobeyourmaid.” It all came out in a rush, and as soon as the words hit the air I felt a vicious

stab of embarrassment in my chest.

“Tell me again,” said Daniel, his voice very soft and low. “Slower.”
“I want. To be. Your maid.” My whole face was burning. I was very grateful that I’d already been

asked to close my eyes, because I didn’t want to risk seeing his reaction. But at the same time, not
knowing was tortuous.

He chuckled warmly. It wasn’t the laugh of derision that I’d feared.
“Tell me more,” he said.
“The stupid little…outfit,” I said. “The one that no actual maid ever wears. I want you to just sit

there and order me around. Like I’m really your maid.” My hands were clenched tightly in my lap.
“Just watch me, and make sure I’m doing everything right. But then I’ll do something wrong by
accident and you tell me you won’t fire me if…”

His voice was right by my ear. “That’s not silly,” he murmured.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry.
“I thought it might be,” I said. “I thought maybe you’d be…I don’t know. Not offended, but…” I

cleared my throat. “I mean I know you’d never really do that.”

“What, sexually blackmail an employee?” I felt the mattress shift as he sat down on the bed. “No,

that doesn’t sound like me.”

“I just think…I like the idea of you being.” I swallowed. “Stern. And choosy. And unforgiving.”
I felt his face very close to mine. Suddenly, I felt his lips brush against my earlobe, and then he

nibbled gently. I squirmed.

“Next time I bring you something wrapped up in a nice box with a bow,” he whispered, “you know

what it’s going to be.”

I bit my lip.
“A tiny…” He grasped the hem of my shirt, and I lifted my arms without needing to be told.

“Little…” He stood up then, coming around to grab my hands and lift me to my feet. “Black…” He
pulled my yoga pants off. “Dress.” And then, he was up against me - his arms around me, surrounding
me, and I melted. “With little white ruffles. Open your eyes, love.”

I did. I had to blink a few times before they re-adjusted to the light. He was smiling.
“You’ll make such a pretty maid,” he said.
I just looked at him.
“You don’t disagree with me, do you?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling.

“Of course - of course not.” I didn’t know why my voice was shaking.
“Then say ‘yes, sir.’”
I swallowed reflexively a few times. “Yes, sir.” I didn’t think it was possible to blush any deeper

than I already was, but apparently, it was very possible indeed.

“I wish I had an outfit for you right now,” he said, sounding genuinely regretful. “Now you’ve

planted the idea in my head, I won’t be able to stop thinking about it.”

He stepped back, looking me up and down. “What is it about the idea that you like so much? Tell

me.”

“I don’t know. It’s like I said. I like you acting stern. I like it when you pretend to be that way.” I

looked down at the floor. “I like the way you look at me.”

“You do?” he smiled, reaching over and lifting my chin up with a gentle touch of his finger.

“Sometimes it seems like it embarrasses you.”

“That’s just because I’m not used to it,” I said.
“Still?”
I shrugged.
“I’m sure there’s a store somewhere downtown that sells all kinds of maid’s outfits,” I said, in a

halfhearted effort to change the subject.

“No doubt,” said Daniel. “But I can’t wait that long.”
The way he said it sent chills through me.
“We’re going to do this so it’s comfortable for you,” he said. “As much as I want to just

manhandle you and throw you down on the bed and take you harder than you ever imagined.” He
smiled. “In consideration of circumstances, I won’t.”

I groaned in frustration as he started to unbutton his shirt. Was it in my imagination, or was he

going slower than he strictly needed to?

“Just think,” he said, finally letting the shirt slip from his shoulders. “After all this time, when we

can finally do it again…”

I just whimpered, pouting at him. He was definitely doing something. He took the time to fold up

his shirt carefully and lay it down in the dresser. For some reason, I felt another hot flush of
embarrassment creep over me at the thought that he’d noticed how much I liked to watch him undress.

“I’m not breakable, you know,” I said. He was already straining under his jeans but he didn’t seem

to be in any hurry to take them off.

“I know,” he said. “But I’m going to be careful, all the same.”
I kept eyeing him and licking my lips and I was utterly humiliated at my inability to stop.
“Just think,” he said, with a smile, coming over close so that his bulge was exactly at my eye level.

“After all this time, once we’re finally able to do anything we want again…”

“Uh huh,” I breathed. I wasn’t really listening to him anymore.
“Hey.” He snapped his fingers. “I’m up here.”
He was trying to make a stern face but he couldn’t fight the smile.
“You’re very distracting,” I said, looking up at him. “Certain parts of you in particular.”
“I could say the same about you,” he said, running his fingers, very lightly, through my hair. “But

you don’t seem to know it, and I prefer you that way.”

I licked my lips again. Stupid reflex.
“Go on,” he said, nudging his hips slightly towards me. That mischievous smile just wouldn’t stop

playing across his lips. “I can tell you’re dying to.”

We didn’t do this often, I assumed because he preferred other things. But until this moment, with

my mouth watering in front of him, I hadn’t realized how much I wanted it.

Still, it was ridiculous for him to frame this as a favor that he was doing for me. Wasn’t it?
I popped the button on his jeans, and the zipper started to creep down of its own accord. I helped

it along.

When I enveloped him in my mouth his eyes fell shut and his mouth open, just a little, just enough

to remind me what it was I liked about this. The heady heat, the musk, the power. In the spite of the
games we played, in this moment, I owned him.

He pulled away after too short a time, stepping out of his jeans and his underwear to lie down on

the bed and gesture me over. I stepped out of my panties and straddled him obediently, letting out a
satisfied sigh as he slowly filled me up. I rode him, but not like I had in the car - it was slow and
sweet. He moved under me, gently, his hands grasping mine and interlacing our fingers, pushing back
towards me so I had something to leverage myself against. Even with the obvious swell of my belly
on such a clear display, I forgot to be self-conscious.

It felt like forever, slowly undulating together and basking in the feeling. It wasn’t the game I’d

missed, I realized. It was just a part of this - this indefinable thing we had together, something that had
been so carefully curated and cultivated even when we didn’t realize we were doing it. It was
something more than just the two of us individually; together, we were something new.

I grasped his hands tightly. Years ago, when I had first stumbled my way into Plum Tech, when the

other big companies were sneering at the startup that was living on a dream and a prayer, I never
could have imagined I’d end up here. When I’d walked in that first day in my skirt that didn’t fit right
and my heels that flipped when I walked, to the point where I almost lost one on a trip back from the
copier, I’d never guessed that Daniel Thorne himself was watching me quietly from somewhere.
Going completely unnoticed, sipping his coffee by the water cooler, seeing me - seeing something
nobody else recognized. Least of all, me.

He’d seen through the barriers I put up, the way I’d tried to shield myself from “men like him,” or

the man I thought he was. He’d seen someone trustworthy, someone he could have imagined himself
being with in another life, when we weren’t both too skittish to consider the possibility of love.

It was a good thing, too.
The thought of being without him was too painful to bear. Even as it flitted briefly through my mind

now, as the pleasure and tension coiled between us, I felt like I wanted to cry.

But then, his lips parted, and he said my name.
I forgot everything but the way he felt.
When it came crashing over me, I cried out, throwing my head back towards the ceiling. We curled

up together afterwards, in the middle of our gigantic bed, and for a moment, I was convinced that
absolutely everything was going to be okay.

Fourteen

“This feels wrong,” I said, for the umpteenth time.
Daniel, at least, had the good grace to ignore me.
Box by box, we were watching the entire remaining contents of the Starra Gallery get packed into

a truck. Most of it was headed to storage. I’d insisted on coming down to “help” but I quickly realized
that not only was no one going to allow a pregnant woman to do so much as lift a pencil, but the
whole thing was making me incredibly sad.

Daniel had the day free, and decided to come with me as well. I was pretty sure it was just him

being overprotective, but he had some ridiculous justification about “getting it into the paper” so I just
rolled my eyes and went along with it.

Oddly enough, a few photographers did stop by. I wasn’t sure what drew them in, but they talked

to me and Daniel and Curtis about the gallery and what it had meant to us. I was still having wild
thoughts of forcing Curtis to take our money and buy a new place, or secretly buying one for him. In
spite of what he said, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was just putting on a brave face.

“So,” I said to him at one point, coming over to lean against the concrete wall and watch some of

the last boxes go in. “What do you think?”

“I think we had a good run,” he said, without hesitating. “I think this is something I can look back

on, and feel good about.”

I couldn’t argue with that.
“Did you end up finding a new job?”
He nodded, sipping his coffee. “At one of the galleries downtown. I’ll be working behind the

scenes, mostly. Won’t see the artists much. So it’ll be a bit of an adjustment.”

“I’ll say. So you were serious about not wanting to own another gallery?”
I doubted he was going to be honest with me, if he hadn’t for all this time, but I figured it was

worth a shot.

“Well,” he said. “I don’t know if I meant it then. But now?” He took another sip of his coffee, his

eyes following another one of the boxes. “For all the fond memories I have of this place, it still has a
shadow hanging over it.” He smiled, a little sadly. “Every day I kept this place open after Jill died, it
was like her ghost was following me around. Creepy, but…I had to do it, you know? Because
otherwise it would be like letting her slip away forever.”

I couldn’t imagine, and so I said nothing.
“All this time,” he went on. “Every year I looked at the books and realized there was no way I

could keep on doing this, but decided to find a way to do it anyway…it was something I did out of
desperation without really understanding why. I knew I needed this place to stay open. I just didn’t
realize that I was clinging to it because it was all I really had left of her.”

They were padlocking the truck. Curtis turned to go inside the gallery and look around one last

time.

Daniel and I stood by as he pushed the door open.
“You two can look around, if you like,” he said.
It was eerie. The cedar smell was stronger than ever, and almost nothing remained that had given

the Starra its character. I hardly felt like I was in the same place.

Curtis had already taken all the personal effects from his office, so this was just one final pass to

make sure nothing had been inadvertently forgotten.

“Does he have any idea who he’s going to lease it out to next?” I wanted to know.
“A Pilates studio,” said Curtis. “Apparently he thinks it’ll be more of an ‘anchor.’”
As strange as it was to think about, I could actually see it - take down a few non-load-bearing

walls here, slap a coat of paint there…

I looked at Curtis. Despite my fears, he wasn’t slumping around the room like Charlie Brown

without his football. He actually looked…happy.

As if on cue, as he made his way around the perimeter of the room, he started whistling.
“All right,” he said, finally. “I think we’re done here.”
As we filtered outside and he turned to lock up behind us, I stopped and turned around, knowing I

ought to say something, but unsure of what it was.

“Thank you both for coming down,” he said, before I could think of anything. “It means the world

to me.”

And just like that, I realized he was going to be just fine.

***

“You don’t think it’s ridiculous? Look at this tie. It’s too fat.”
Walter was scowling at himself in the full-length store mirror.
“That’s actually the perfect width of tie for that cut of suit,” said the floor clerk, who was

beginning to look like a trapped animal.

“It’s fine,” I said. “Let’s get that one.”
We were planning on taking him to one of the city’s nicer restaurants to meet with Lindsey, but the

sartorial side of things was proving to be more stressful than we’d anticipated. He insisted that he
didn’t have anything nice enough, which was true. But when Daniel offered to buy him something, he
waffled on every single suit he tried on. I’d gone with him today to try and force a decision, if I
possibly could.

In the end, I was able to convince him to take it, but apparently only on the unspoken condition that

he’d grumble about it all the way back to the apartment. We were all going to leave from here for the
restaurant, since Walter’s hotel shuttle didn’t go far enough and it just seemed easier this way.

“I don’t understand the way men are expected to dress these days,” Walter said, when Daniel

walked down the stairs in his suit.

“Thank you,” said Daniel. “You look nice, too.”
“I didn’t say it was bad,” Walter snapped. “I said I just don’t understand it.”
Ever since his address at Columbia, there had been a tentative truce. Directly afterwards, I

actually saw the two of them hug, and as happy as I was about the whole thing, I kept my distance for
the rest of the night so that they could talk. I answered mundane questions about my pregnancy until I
felt like my brain was going to leak out of my ears, and then finally, we went back home.

I didn’t talk to Daniel about exactly what happened, or what kinds of things they might have

discussed. The important thing was that they were once again willing to give each other a chance,
more or less.

“You sure want to wear that tie?” said Walter. “It looks cheap.”
“No, it doesn’t. You wouldn’t know the difference between a cheap tie and and expensive tie if it

was used to strangle you.”

More or less.
We were very early to the restaurant. Walter was clearly venting his nerves by being rude to

everyone, so I tried to keep him distracted while we got to our table and sat down. Daniel asked the
host to keep an eye out for Lindsey and send her in our direction. Her husband Ray couldn’t get away
from work, and she told me confidentially that it was better this way.

“Ray hides it well, but he hates dad’s guts,” she’d said, casually. “I think if we got a couple

glasses of wine in them, there’s a decent chance a full-on fight would break out.”

“As amazing as that sounds,” I’d told her, “you probably made the best decision.”
The server came by for our drink orders. Daniel and I got water, and Walter ordered a dry martini.
“Unless we’re not drinking,” he said, looking around the table.
“Well, I’m not,” I said.
“Obviously,” said Walter.
“You can have anything you like, dad,” said Daniel, impatiently. To the server: “that’ll be all,

thank you.”

“Sorry,” said Walter. “I don’t know what the etiquette is in these situations.”
I looked at Daniel. “You can order a drink, you know,” I said. “It’s not going to bother me.”
He shrugged. “I’d just as soon keep a clear head.”
“I don’t think a fight’s going to break out,” said Walter.
“I’m glad you’re so confident,” Daniel replied. “Remember the last Thanksgiving we all had

together?”

“No, I don’t,” said Walter, firmly. “And neither do you.”
I watched the door anxiously, fiddling with the corner of my menu. I had absolutely no idea what I

was going to order, but I couldn’t possibly concentrate on the menu while I was waiting for…I didn’t
know what, exactly.

When she finally walked through the door, I held my breath. She looked absolutely stunning, and

her face was set into a completely unreadable mask. The host escorted her over to our table.

“Hello, Lindsey,” Walter said, setting down his drink.
“Hello,” she replied, coolly.
“I hope you and Ray have been doing well.”
She cleared her throat, delicately. “Very well, thank you,” she said.
This was a side of Lindsey I’d never seen. She never so much as bit her tongue around anyone, but

with Walter, obviously, she had to.

We all ordered, eventually. I pointed to something on the menu at random, while the others made

slightly more thoughtful choices. Walter started quizzing Lindsey about her life, and after the third or
fourth question I could sense her irritation growing. I wondered if he knew what thin ice he was on. I
wondered if he simply didn’t care.

“So, still no kids?” Walter said, finally. I winced.
Lindsey’s eyes turned to flint.
“No,” she said, very quietly. “I can’t have kids. I found out not too long after you went on your…”

she took a sip of her drink. “…cruise.”

“I’m sure that your brother told you how much I regret some of the things I’ve done,” said Walter.

“I hope you can find a way to forgive me, someday.”

“I’m not holding a grudge,” said Lindsey, in a way that very much made me not believe her.
“I’ve been thinking about coming back for so long,” he said. “But every time, I thought…why?

What’s the point? They’ll hate me. So I pushed the idea away for as long as I could. But now that I’m
here, I realize I should have owned up to my mistake a lot sooner. I could have…” Walter took a deep
breath. “I could have been there for you when you found out. About the kids. I could have seen
Daniel’s wedding. I could have done a lot of things differently, if only I’d been ready to admit that I
fucked up.”

He was clenching his fork tightly in his hand. I could see that Lindsey’s lip was quivering, but I

wasn’t sure that anyone else noticed.

“Madeline said something to me,” he went on, his voice very low. “She said it wasn’t too late -

but that someday soon, it might be. She warned me that I was about to lose you two forever, and until
she said it, I didn’t realize how true it was.”

A tear made its way down Lindsey’s face. She dabbed at it with a napkin.
“This might not have been the best venue,” she said, smiling bravely at Daniel.
“My apologies,” he replied. “You were always welcome to make another suggestion.”
“Dad,” she said, looking at Walter and letting out a long sigh. “We would have forgiven you, no

matter what. We always would have found a way. But you waited so long. It’s a lot to wrap my head
around. I’m still not really sure if this is reality. I might wake up any minute now from the longest,
strangest dream I’ve ever had.”

“I promise, it’s not,” said Walter.
“That’s exactly what someone in a dream would say.” Lindsey was smiling.
Under the table, I grabbed Daniel’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Lindsey said, gesturing at Walter with her fork. “Later on, I’m

going to yell at you. Probably lots of screaming and cursing and weeping. I’m going to demand
answers to questions that have none, and bring up things you’d forgotten you even did or said. That’s
not a threat, it’s just reality. It’s all going to be part of the adjustment process for me. But for right
now, I’m happy to just have dinner with you. I’m happy to know that you’re alive, and see your face
again. That’s all things I never though I’d have, but none of it changes the fact that if you’d never left
in the first place, we wouldn’t be going through this at all.”

“I know,” said Walter. “I don’t have an excuse for what I did.” He reflected on this for a moment.

“Well. No good excuses.”

“Don’t bother with any bad ones,” said Lindsey, smiling. “I won’t put up with any bullshit from

you.”

“You never did,” said Walter.
The rest of our meal was exactly was surreal as I would have expected it to be. I still don’t

remember what I ate, or the actual content of most of the conversations. What I do remember is the
sparkle slowly coming back into Lindsey’s eyes, as she sat there and talked with her father for the
first time in so very long. I remember the look in Walter’s eyes as he talked to his son and daughter,
betraying a sense of pride that he might never be able to put into words.

But most of all, I remember the feeling of relief and happiness that slowly crept through my veins

as I sat there. Gathered around the flickering candles, we were as much a family as we were ever
going to be. And yes, later, there might be yelling. And more in the future. That was just the nature of
things.

In the end, though, everything from the past would heal. It would never be forgotten, but the

memories would grow less sharp. Less painful.

Things were going to be better now. Not perfect, but better. And really, what more could I ask for?

Fifteen

I was pacing the apartment.
“Where the hell are we going to take them?”
For the past several days, I’d been stricken with random anxiety about my parents every so often.

It had gotten to the point where I no longer had to provide any context for Daniel to know exactly
who, and what, I was talking about.

“Anywhere and everywhere,” he said, putting a dish in the rack.
“They’ll complain if there’s too much walking.”
“Well, everywhere that’s not a museum.”
“And what about dinner? We can’t take them someplace nice, they won’t have anything to wear.

Plus they’ll think I’ve turned into a snob.”

“I’ll cook for them,” said Daniel, mildly, drying his hands. “They’ll love that. Parents always do.”
I looked at him in complete bewilderment.
“What?” he said. “You think I’ve never had to undo someone’s parents’ impressions of a rich

young asshole?”

“I guess I never really thought about it,” I admitted.
“Best case scenario, you’re a Kardashian. Worst case, Patrick Bateman. Until you have them over,

cook them a nice meal, and chat with them about all sorts of normal human things.” He smiled. “I’ll
admit to having trouble with certain people, but parents are easy.”

“Oh, well, excuse me,” I said. “I didn’t mean to impugn your abilities.”
“They think they care about all sorts of lofty things, like your true personality and your long-term

ability to support their daughter, but really they just want someone who makes them feel warm and
welcome. It’s all about first impressions. They want to be charmed, even if they don’t think they do.”

“Speaking of Patrick Bateman,” I said, wincing as I sat down on the stool. They weren’t quite as

comfortable as they used to be, before little Laura started to grow.

“I might be accused of social maladjustment,” said Daniel. “But not a psychopath. Please. Give me

some credit.”

“Yeah, if you are, you’ve hidden it pretty well.” I gave up on trying to get comfortable and

wandered into the living room. “Okay, well, let me know when you’ve devised the tasting menu for
my parents’ visit.”

“Oh, it’s not going to be anything fancy,” said Daniel. “That defeats the whole purpose.”
I couldn’t stop looking at him with a confused smile on my face.
“What?” he said.
I just shook my head.
“You think you know a guy.”

***

My parents were here, and I hadn’t lost my mind.
Yet.
“Oh,” my mother was almost tittering. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.” I wanted to die. Daniel

turned on his brightest smile for her benefit, and she actually blushed. I was surprised that he didn’t
kiss her hand.

“You look beautiful, honey,” my dad said.
“Thank you for not saying ‘glowing.’” I smiled at him.
My mother didn’t look nearly as different, although there were many more flecks of gray in her

hair than before.

“Nice place,” said my dad, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t trying to be pointed about it. “I bet

there’s waiting lists a mile long.”

“There are,” said Daniel. “Thankfully, I knew the property owner when the place first opened. I

even had the staircase custom made.”

“It’s something else.” My dad sounded strangely awed, with none of that sarcastic edge I was

expecting.

I don’t know what I thought would happen, exactly - that Daniel would be awkward or standoffish,

or something of the sort. I knew he was more than capable of charming people. But seeing it in action
was something else.

“I’m so glad you were both finally able to get away from work and come visit,” said Daniel,

graciously establishing to precedent that we weren’t going to discuss the actual reasons they hadn’t.
Which, granted, mostly just boiled down to my inability to put up with their bullshit.

“I’m sure you know what that’s like,” said my dad.
“You must have an awful lot on your shoulders,” my mom agreed.
Daniel shrugged it off. “Day to day, it’s not bad,” he said. “I have a very good team of people

working alongside me.” Not under him. A very deliberate word choice, I thought. “I have to say, it
was bittersweet, losing Maddy’s talent from the company. But I couldn’t have the conflict of interest;
it wouldn’t be fair to anyone else.”

“Of course not,” said my mother. “But I’m glad to hear that you appreciated her.”
“Still do,” said Daniel, with a beatific smile. “But for a whole new spectrum of reasons.”
“It wasn’t the most artistically rewarding job, anyway,” I said. “I’m glad I have the time to do

things on my own now.”

“Oh? Are you still doing your drawings?” My mom took a sip of wine.
“Yes, honey, remember? We saw it in the paper,” my dad said, patiently.
“Oh, oh, that’s right. Well, that’s very nice.”
They were both carefully avoiding any commentary on my actual art, which didn’t surprise me.

They’d never liked it, and usually dismissed my drawings and frivolous in one way or another. That

wasn’t a conversation I was particularly eager to have with them again.

“Such a beautiful place,” my mom said, so quietly it almost seemed like she was talking to herself.

“Did you decorate any of it, honey?”

“Not really,” I said. That was another thing: they’d never been very clear on the distinction

between graphic design and interior design, no matter how many times I explained it to them.

“It’s sparse,” said my dad.
“Modern is the word,” my mom tutted. “I love it.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” said my dad.
“I just picked up a few pieces more or less at random, when I got the place,” Daniel cut in. “I was

utterly surprised to realize they all fit together, more or less. All the appliance and light fixtures and
all that - the credit goes to the architect who designed the place and my friend who actually
bankrolled it.”

“The bedroom loft is very appealing,” my mom said.
“I like that it gives a feeling of separation between the bedroom and the rest of the place,” Daniel

agreed. I hid my smile.

“Well,” I said, trying to switch topics from this incessant HGTV prattling. “So, dad, how’s

work?”

He shrugged. “Well, old Mr. Farmer finally retired. Turned out it didn’t matter. What’s that old

line? ‘Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.’”

Oh good; it wasn’t even dinner yet, and my dad was already quoting song lyrics.
“The Who,” said Daniel, grinning as he pulled a pan down from the hanger.
“I saw them in concert once,” said my mom. “And, believe it or not - they cut off drinks towards

the end of the show, and I had this beer I’d barely touched. This man with a backstage pass came up
and offered me a trade. Naturally enough, I took it.” She paused to sip her wine. I’d heard this story
so many times I could have mouthed it along with her.

“I hate this story,” my dad griped.
“Hush.” My mom slapped him lightly on the arm. “I had a life before you.”
Daniel was absolutely eating this up, his eyes dancing from one to the other of them. I knew I

wasn’t going to hear the end of this once we were alone.

“Anyway, I went backstage and met them all. And they were perfectly nice men. And gentlemen,”

she emphasized, glaring at my father. “Howard doesn’t believe me.”

“I know how girls are with rockstars,” my father griped. “You can tell me whatever you want, but

I know what goes on.” He started drumming his fingers on the table. “Although I guess it’s the same
thing for any powerful man, isn’t it?” He looked at Daniel pointedly.

“Howard!” My mom smack his arm again. “Not in front of Maddy.”
“Jesus Christ, mom,” I said, with my head in my hands. “I know he wasn’t a virgin when we met.”
My dad started snickering.
I couldn’t stand the thought of looking at Daniel. “So, what about you, mom? Anything new and

exciting?”

“Oh, no. Not me.”
“Not since that Who concert,” my dad mumbled.
“HOWARD!”
“Oh my God, both of you,” I pleaded. “Stop.”
I finally looked up at Daniel. He didn’t seem the least bit bothered.
“Well,” he said, wiping down a Santoku knife. “How does everyone like their steak?”

***

Excerpted from Daniel Thorne: A Life

When Daniel first told me that he wanted to get his biography written, I thought it was a bit

premature.

After all, he’s still got quite a bit of life ahead of him. What was there to reflect on, at this point?

Why bother? What kind of insight could he possibly have about things that happened only a short time
ago?

Of course, that was before I knew about everything that was going to happen.
In the last year, we’ve had to face up to things we couldn’t have predicted. Things I never even

imagined. There were times when I practically had to pinch myself as a reminder that what was
happening was, in fact, real, and not some insane fever dream.

So in a way, this was the perfect time to write his biography.
I had to come back to the project after a long lull. Once I looked back on what I’d already put

down, the pieces all started to come together. I started to understand exactly how I had to tell his story
- and why.

It’s not just so people will understand him. Or understand us. It’s not just to make some facile

point about successful people - they all think this way, or they all do this thing or they all don’t do
that thing. It’s not to prove anything to anyone. And it’s not, despite what some people might think, a
cheap tool to elicit sympathy for someone whose position in life is more enviable than most.

By the time I finally understood the purpose of this book, it was so clear to me that I felt stupid for

not realizing it before.

It’s for everyone who’s ever thought about “what if.” It’s for every kid sitting on the floor in every

home all over the world, looking at something that thinking: I could make that.

It’s for anyone with even the tiniest spark of genius, the smallest seed of an ambition. It’s for

people who chase their dreams and don’t take “no” for an answer. And it’s for the people behind
those people; the ones who support them, who teach them, who raise them. The ones who love them.

It’s for everyone who’s worked hard, but stayed invisible. It’s for everyone who feels

unappreciated.

This story is for all of you.
It’s important, and not because it’s the story of an important man. It’s important because people

need to know where people like Daniel Thorne really come from. It’s not their circumstances that
make them. It’s what they choose to be.

Many people will tell you can you can be anything, do anything you want, but not many of them

will tell you how. There’s certainly not a one-size-fits-all answer, but I like to think that if you read
this book carefully, you’ll find the answers you need.

- M

About the Author

Melanie Marchande is a young writer who loves creating fun, flirty, and occasionally steamy

stories about two people realizing they just can't live without each other. If you'd like to read more
from her, please leave a review letting her know what you liked about the book so she knows what to
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Coming Soon

A New Adult Contemporary Romance from Mina Bennett

He's the only thing she has left to believe in...

Marissa was the first person to break Jacob's heart. When they were children, she made it very clear
that she wanted nothing to do with him. She didn't mean to, but her mother had ordered her to stay
away from her Sunday school crush: "He's a nice boy - don't you ruin him." So she kept her feelings
hidden, telling herself that no matter how sweet he seemed, he'd still end up turning on her, like
everyone else did.

Jacob never loved anyone like he loved Marissa. He knows he should try to forget about her,
especially now that he's engaged and she's happily married - or so everyone says. Even though they've
grown and gone their separate ways, in their tightly-knit community, that still means seeing each other
at every Sunday service, church picnic and backyard barbecue. He swears that her eyes still have that
sad, haunted look, but he manages to keep his distance.

Until one summer night, when everything changes.

With Jacob's relationship in shambles and Marissa pushed to the breaking point, they're drawn
together by an unstoppable force. Temptation is irresistible. Giving in is unthinkable. But it soon
becomes clear that nothing - neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation - can keep
them apart.

Verse quoted from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright ©
1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

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If you liked I Married a Billionaire: The Prodigal Son, you might also enjoy these
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He could have been anyone - a janitor on break, a graduate student, a bum. But the
man standing outside in the cold turns out to be Dr. Eliot Herceg, one of the most
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Brynn has spent her life trying to forget her desires, and Eliot’s deep wounds have
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Dear Rockstar

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