He also asked this every morning. I’d rather just pour sugar down my throat. “No, thanks. I’ll scramble up some eggs.”

“I can do it for you.”

He also made this offer every morning. Once I let him make them. They were terrible. Myron couldn’t cook. He has trouble reheating a pizza without messing it up.

“I’m good, thanks.”

I broke the eggs, added a dash of milk. Uncle Myron had purchased some truffle oil for me. That was a secret I had learned from my mother. It was expensive, but when I could get it, a dab of the oil made the eggs a lot tastier.

“I need to see my mom,” I said.

Uncle Myron looked up from the cereal box. “You can’t.”

“I know she’s in rehab.”

“And you know the doctors said we had to stay away for at least two more weeks.”

“It’s important.”

Myron stood. “You want to ask her about the cremation.”

“Right.”

“It won’t help,” he said. “I mean, think about it. What’s she going to tell you, Mickey?”

I stayed silent.

“If your mom says she didn’t do it, maybe she was just so high she doesn’t remember. If she says she did it . . .” Myron stopped, thought about it. “Well, okay, maybe that would end whatever quest you’re on.”

“I’m going to call the rehab,” I said. “But I’m going to need you to back me up on this.”

Uncle Myron let loose a long sigh but he nodded. “Okay, sure. But we need to do what’s best for your mom. You get that, right?”

Of course I got that. He sat back down and started eating the kid cereal again. I moved to the stove. I had forty minutes until I was meeting Ema at the bus station. Then I remembered something.

“Hey, Myron?”

“What?”

“I saw you at Schultz’s gym. You were talking to Mr. Schultz and Randy.”

Myron took another bite of cereal. He may have nodded, I wasn’t sure.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“I’ve known the family for a long time. Mr. Schultz grew up in this town.”

“Did he go to Kasselton High?”

“Yep.”

“Your year?”

“No,” Myron said. “Your father’s.”

I wasn’t sure how to take that. “Did they know each other?”

“Your father and Mr. Schultz? Sure. They knew each other since grade school.”

I tried to imagine that—a world where Buck’s father and my father played at recess or whatever as little kids. It was hard to see. “So yesterday you were talking to him and Randy.”

“Right.”

“What about?”

He took another spoonful of cereal, jammed it into his mouth, chewed too loudly for all the time it had sat in milk. “Do you know what I do for a living?”

“I thought you were retired,” I said.