The pastry was mouthwatering. The coffee, too—a frothy latte. Ray had clearly gone out of his way to find a decent bakery, which was not always easy in L.A.

“His whole life,” he said.

“It’s really good,” I said, trying hard not to sputter crumbs.

“Maybe Willow’s recipe needed work,” he admitted.

“I read Calvin’s thesis,” I confessed. “He was a beautiful writer—it must have been terrible to lose him.”

Ray looked momentarily befuddled, forlorn. “How did you . . . ?”

“The librarian at the Rocque helped me get it from Yates,” I said. “I’m really sorry, Ray. Were you close?”

Trucks passed on either side, casting us in a sudden valley of shade. Ray glanced at them and sped out of it.

“You rarely say or do what I expect,” he said in a soft voice. “We were opposites,” he added. “He loved art. I loved science. Spider-Man, Batman. He hated our vacations at the beach. I loved them.”

He sank into silence.

“But we were close,” he said after a while. “Especially after our father died.”

And then, as if a tap had opened somewhere inside him, Ray began to talk. Calvin had been his only blood relative after their father died, other than a few second cousins. They had grown up together in their father’s house. Ray’s mother had died when Ray was very small. Ray’s dad had married Willow Teicher when Ray was four, and Willow gave birth to Calvin when Ray was six. A self-described “women’s libber,” she’d insisted that her son carry on her last name, an unconventional choice that puzzled and rankled their neighbors, and subtly reinforced Calvin’s destiny to abandon his hometown. The brothers had drifted when Cal left for graduate study at Yates, but they came together again after Cal went into rehab for addiction to snorting Adderall, courtesy of his high-pressure college life. In rehab Cal had met a borderline female patient with multiple addictions named Katrina, who’d gotten pregnant and carried the baby to term but didn’t want anything to do with motherhood. So Cal had brought his infant son, Nathaniel, home to North Carolina and raised him with Ray and Willow helping out, all the while working on his thesis.

“He had this sling he put Nathaniel in, and the kid would sleep while he typed,” said Ray. “The kid was a prodigious sleeper, a really contented child. I’ll give his mother credit for that. She stayed off everything while she was pregnant. It was the only advantage the kid got, though. And Willow.” Ray sounded deeply fond of his stepmother.

I waited, pulling my seat belt loose from my shoulder, letting it slide back.

“Anyway. Paris cookies,” he said, as if that summed things up.

“What do you think happened to Calvin in L.A.?” I said.

Ray tapped the steering wheel.