“I turn thirty-three soon. They say thirty-three’s a pivotal age. I’ve realized that over the years, I’ve never been able to recapture the kind of . . .” Just like that, his eyes turned to water. “You travel four thousand miles to seek perfection when all along it’s sitting right here . . .” He leaned toward her, and his words fell to a whisper. “I’ve emerged from my years in the wilderness. Now I need to cleanse myself of the darkness and reclaim the innocence of my youth.”

She grabbed her keys. “Fuck you. Maybe you should’ve joined an ashram or the Peace Corps, not stolen somebody’s daughter.”

His eyes flared, but cooled off in seconds. “Maybe. But I guarantee—the daughter’s more fun.” He gestured for more beer, one for him and one for her. “After our first meeting, Brittany and I went back to my car and fucked our brains out. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness whatsoever. She was clearly . . . educated.” He gave her a tender smile. “I did to her everything that I should have done to you, when we were fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. Heck, twelve. All those opportunities we had, you and I, and we just blew it. Did you have any idea how hard you got me?” Another look. “Anyway, Brittany and me, we went on and on till all the windows steamed up and my dashboard smelled like her pussy.”

His knee brushed against Kate’s thigh—and she felt herself shudder. She got up and walked away without looking at him.

A minute later, she returned. “Since you’re here . . . Could you do me a favor?”

“Same as it ever was,” Bluto said, when they pulled into Kate’s driveway on Santa Claus Lane. “The light. The paint. Every blade of grass. The same.”

“Except my Mom’s moved to Florida.”

“I know.”

Kate looked at him but decided to let it go. As they got out of the car, she saw Mr. Park, the slab-faced Korean pastor, watering his lawn across the street. It was something he did about once a month with remarkable half-heartedness. He looked at her and Bluto expressionlessly, but was obviously passing some judgment inside his warped head. She pointedly didn’t wave—there was no point in acting friendly.