His father shrugged. “She’s obsessed right now. It’s harmless.”

They moved to the wooden deck out back. The deck had taken almost a year to build and was strong enough to withstand a tsunami. They grabbed the outdoor chairs with the faded cushions and looked out over the backyard Myron still saw as the Wiffle-ball stadium. He and Brad had played that game for hours. The double tree was first base, a permanently browned-out grass spot was second, third was a rock buried in the ground. If they hit the ball really hard, it would land in Mrs. Diamond’s vegetable garden and she would come out in what they used to call a housedress and scream at them to stay off her property.

Myron heard laughter from a party three doors up. “The Lubetkins are having a barbecue?”

“The Lubetkins moved out four years ago,” Dad said.

“So who’s there now?”

Dad shrugged. “I don’t live here anymore.”

“Still. We used to be invited to all the barbecues.”

“When it was our time,” his father said. “When our children were young and we knew all the neighbors and had kids going to the same school and playing on the same sports teams. Now it’s someone else’s turn. That’s how it should be. You need to let things go.”

Myron frowned. “And you’re usually the subtle one.”

Dad chuckled. “Yeah, sorry about that. So while I’m playing this new role, what’s wrong?”

Myron skipped the “how do you know” because what would be the point? Dad wore a white golf shirt, even though he never played the game. His gray chest hair jutted through the V. He looked off, knowing that Myron was not a huge fan of intense eye contact.

Myron decided to dive right in. “Have you heard from Brad recently?”

If his father was surprised to hear Myron say that name—the first time Myron had done so in front of his father in fifteen-plus years—he did not show it. He took a sip of his iced tea and pretended to think about it. “We got an e-mail, oh, maybe a month ago.”

“Where was he?”

“In Peru.”

“And what about Kitty?”

“What about her?”

“Was she with him?”

“I assume so.” Now his father turned and faced him. “Why?”

“I think I saw Kitty last night in New York City.”

His father sat back. “I guess it’s possible.”

“Wouldn’t they have contacted you if they were in the area?”

“Maybe. I could e-mail him and ask.”

“Could you?”

“Sure. Do you want to tell me what this is about?”

He kept it vague. He’d been looking for Lex Ryder when he saw Kitty. His father nodded as Myron spoke. When he finished, Dad said, “I don’t hear from them much. Sometimes months go by. But he’s okay. Your brother, I mean. I think he has been happy.”

“Has been?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said ‘has been happy.’ Why didn’t you just say he’s happy?”

“His last few e-mails,” Dad said. “They’ve been, I don’t know, different. Stiffer maybe. More newsy. But then again, I’m not very close to him. Don’t get me wrong. I love him. I love him as much as I do you. But we aren’t particularly close.”