Her smile faded. “Josh . . . I kept my old post office box in Cambridge for ten years. You know. In case he wanted to contact me and hear about you.” Her eyes filled. “He never did.”

He inhaled slowly, held it for a second, then exhaled. “He sounds like quite a dick.”

“Can’t argue that point.”

“Do you know anything else, Mom?”

“No.” She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “His loss, Joshua. You are the best son in the world.”

He got up and hugged her, his fierce Viking mom. “I love you, Mom.” She hugged him back hard, then kissed his cheek soundly.

“I love you, too. Do what you have to do.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Finish your cake.”

* * *

JOSHUA FOUND CHRISTOPHER M. Zane with four clicks on Google after entering his father’s name, educational history and the word engineer.

And there he was. A photo and everything.

Christopher M. Zane had graying dark hair, olive skin and brown eyes, a square solid face, aquiline nose and a crooked left incisor that showed clearly when he smiled. Josh’s left incisor was also crooked. Identically crooked.

Objectively speaking, Josh could admit his father was handsome. A bit like George Clooney, but not as pretty, as Lauren would say.

He stared at the picture.

He looked a lot more like his father than his mother. A lot more.

Josh was always surprised to be noticed for his looks, given that he spent so much time in his own head. His sloppy, pre-Lauren, pre-Radley attire was chosen for comfort, and when he did put in the effort—like buying the suit he’d worn to propose to Lauren—he was pleased. He cleaned up nice, as Sumi told him.

But now, looking at his future self on the screen there . . . maybe he didn’t like the way he looked so much anymore. Not that this man had done anything significant in Joshua’s life other than ejaculate. Well, that and walk away.

Christopher M. Zane, now a PhD, taught civil and environmental engineering at the University of Chicago. A graduate from Notre Dame, he had “studied at MIT,” got his master’s from the University of Chicago, a doctorate from Northwestern, was now tenured at the University of Chicago and a frequent guest lecturer. He’d taken a sabbatical in South Africa three years prior. He was married and had three children.

So Joshua had siblings. Noted.

Josh didn’t let emotion get in the way. As when he worked, his tunnel vision served him. He signed up for a record-finding service, and several minutes later, got his father’s address, phone number, previous addresses. Christopher M. Zane had gotten a speeding ticket in 2018. He’d been a part owner of a now-closed café in Wicker Park. Here was a picture of him at the opening, his arm around his wife, three kids. “Christopher Zane, his wife, Melissa, and their three children, Sawyer, Ransom and Briar”—apparently, they wanted their kids to join the rodeo—“at the opening of Deep, Dark and Delicious, the latest café to open in Chicago’s funkiest neighborhood.”

A half brother and two half sisters with cowboy names. He studied their faces. Melissa was blond and blue eyed, and two of the kids were as well, but Ransom looked like her father.

And like Josh.

How strange, to see someone who undeniably looked like him after thirty years of being an only child. Thirty-one, to be precise.

The café had closed two years later. Ah, well.

He Googled his father’s address, hit street view and saw that his father lived in a gracious old Victorian in Oak Park. Lovely neighborhood. A real estate search let him see the old listing and all the rooms inside. He saw the windows in the master bedroom, the smaller, cozy bedrooms his half siblings had. The kids had had to share a bathroom, and he could imagine the bickering that took place there. Big kitchen. A sunroom overlooking the backyard.

It was a nice house. Really nice. The kind he and Lauren might have bought.

A few more search terms, and Joshua learned that his paternal grandparents, Mike and Kerry Zane, owned a huge dairy farm in Rolling Prairie, Indiana. Two thousand cows, all the equipment and buildings necessary, everything very shiny and modern. There’d been a beautiful old home on the property as well, with a wraparound porch, four bedrooms and a six-stall barn for horses.

The farm had sold for $12.2 million fourteen years ago.

Funny, to think that his ancestors were wealthy.

Fourteen years ago, Joshua had been choosing colleges based on their financial aid packages and scholarships. Stephanie was frugal and had started saving money for his college before he popped out of her uterus, but her salary had never been anything more than modest until the past couple of years, when she moved into what might be considered comfortable. Before she’d gotten knocked up, Josh’s mom had planned to go to medical school. She was getting an online master’s degree now, thirty-one years after Josh had been born.

He clicked back on the two photos of his father.

He called Cookie Goldberg. “What do you want?” she said by way of answering.

“I’m going to Chicago tomorrow,” he said. “Book me a flight and find a quiet hotel, okay?”

27

Joshua

Month ten

Still December

SEVENTEEN HOURS AFTER calling Cookie, Joshua sat on a bench outside the building where Christopher M. Zane, PhD, was holding office hours. The sun was mercilessly bright, the sky a cold, brittle blue. The bench itself was iron, but Josh barely noticed the freezing temperature. No. He was watching the doors of the building where his father taught and held office hours.

Thank God Sarah had dropped the letter off early. Otherwise, he might have missed this window, since the semester was ending in a few days.