Amy came to the door. Jimmy was still asleep, swinging near the TV in a rocker his mother had bought for him the previous week. It pained Amy that she was no longer capable of breast-feeding their son. Too much time had elapsed, too much grief. One thing that always amazed him about her was that—except for her initial outburst—she did not bring up the kidnapping. She was more forgiving than he, perhaps too much so.

Simon Schiller answered the door. Malibu was a cousin of Santa Monica. Matt was dead, and could not risk running into old friends and being recognized. Yet Amy always acted annoyed when he put on his wig. She had spoken of taking a walk down to the water. He felt he could not be too careful.

“Hi, honey,” he said and gave her a hug as she stepped inside. No girl fit so well in his arms as his Amy—she was a regular Lego. There was a red rose in her hair, and her kiss tasted like vanilla. He quickly got an erection and she pulled back and grinned.

“Donate blood and the guy who gets it will never need Viagra,” she said.

“The same guy will probably come looking for you. You’re early.”

“Wanted to see if I’d catch you with your girlfriend.”

“She just left, out the back door.”

“There is no back door.”

They kissed some more and she moved on to Jimmy. He never felt jealous of the time she spent with him. To her credit, she was good at balancing her attention between them. She had picked up bad habits married to wealth, though. When they went out, she spent money. He had never seen that side of her before. Isn’t this pretty, Matt? She obsessed over clothes and jewelry. Because she and David were on bad terms, she said she did not like to use his credit cards. Something about how it would look in court when they finally settled. The other day Matt had reluctantly bought her a diamond bracelet that cost six thousand. That was nothing next to what he had, yet it was not as if he had a way of replenishing the dough.