“I do deserve to be happy,” Rain said now, as if she’d been told that but was just now believing it. “I am going to marry Gary. And if we decide not to tell his kids in advance, we may not tell you, either. We’ll just go do it.”

Since he’d already told her that was what he wanted, Manfred could only repeat that he agreed and wished her luck. “Tell me when it’s done,” he said. “I love you, Mom. If Gary’s the guy you want, go for it.”

When he hung up, after having the whole conversation with Rain several times, Manfred sat back in his chair and worried for a minute or two. Gary and his mother had been dating six years, but those were years that Manfred had not been around much, since he’d been living mostly with his grandmother. He realized that he didn’t know Gary very well. Presumably his mother did, and that was what was important. Should he check Gary out? But Rain had dated the man for a long time. If she hadn’t found out if he had a criminal record in that length of time, she didn’t want to know.

Manfred decided to leave well enough alone.

It would be strange when his mother had a last name that was different from his.

Once he had thought of that, he realized he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember Gary’s last name. He laughed out loud. The great psychic couldn’t remember his mom’s future name. Redding. That was it.

Having settled that, Manfred gave the subject no more thought. Instead, energized by his interest in the new guy, Rick (or Barry) Horowitz, he settled in to work for over an hour before knocking off to watch some television. He figured he’d made back what he’d had to pay Magdalena Orta Powell . . . but he’d thought of something else he needed from her. And he knew he couldn’t get it in a straightforward way.

He found the bill and cover letter he’d received from Powell’s office. He examined it carefully.

Then he started comparing fonts in his Word program.

—

“I sent a letter to Rachel’s house,” he told Olivia the next morning, after he’d been to the Davy post office. He knew he sounded smug, but he was feeling pretty optimistic. Ever since Fiji had laid the “confidence” spell on him, he’d had these moments of sheer . . . rightness. Like he couldn’t do the wrong thing and every idea he had was a good one. “It’ll be delivered tomorrow, and Lewis will have to sign for it.”

Should he be worrying about this? He didn’t know, and he only realized theoretically that he should care.

“Why?” she said blankly.