Suspicion rang in Harry’s voice. “What kind of advice. Why would he ask you and not his parents?”

Jack grinned. “Because he thinks I know everything. I have no idea where he got that idea, but it’s in his head. But to answer your question, it was girl advice he was looking for.”

Harry groaned. “The kid is ten years old! What kind of girl advice does a ten-year-old need?”

“Seems a girl named Emily, same age as LJ, is his competition on the swim team he was assigned to. It would appear, according to LJ, that she is better and faster than he is, and it’s rubbing him the wrong way. She seems to be a little more mature than LJ and knew which buttons to push, because she told him the reason he was so slow in the water was he had fat knees. LJ was wounded to the quick over that. Plus, she’s cute; she has curly hair and big blue eyes and dimples. Here’s the thing, though—her front teeth protrude a little, and she has an overbite. He’s smitten and jealous at the same time. End of story.”

“No, it isn’t,” Harry sputtered. “What did you tell him? I know you told him something. Fat knees! What?”

“Well . . . I might have said something. What you need to understand is this, Harry. Women, girls of all ages, they stick together, and it’s a sure bet that the female counselors are telling her how to get to LJ, and because male counselors are all macho and crap like that, they aren’t really equipped to counsel kids like LJ. So, I just . . . you know, helped out my godson. The kid’s goal in life is to go to the Olympics and outdo Phelps. Cosmo is even having an Olympic-size pool built out back for him to train, and when he gets back from camp, he’s going to have his own personal trainer. True or false, I don’t know. LJ told me that, so who knows. It might be wishful thinking on his part. He is good, though—swims like a fish. How’s the soup? Are there enough noodles?”

“It’s okay. Not great but passable. Yoko’s is better. I don’t think Lizzie will complain.”

“We should have heard something by now,” Jack said fretfully.

“It’s three o’clock in the morning, Jack. Surgeries take hours, and then the patient is in recovery. Call Charles if it will make you feel better.”

Jack had his phone in hand when he looked past Harry to see Lizzie standing in the doorway dressed in what he thought was Cosmo’s bathrobe, her silver hair soaking wet, her face shiny and scrubbed. “Is there news?”

“Um . . . no, guess not. No one is answering their phones. It’s late. How about some chicken soup? With noodles. You need to eat something.”

“You made chicken soup! That was so sweet of you, Jack. Sure, I’ll have some with lots of noodles. You can talk to me while I eat. Then I want to go back to the hospital. I don’t care if it is the middle of the night.”