“Names are no reason for fighting. You know that, don’t you?” Karim nodded, close to tears.

“Your father always said that most fights happen because someone is afraid not to fight. He said that what takes real courage is to walk away. And he was a brave man.”

Karim nodded again. The father he had never known was his greatest hero. Unfortunately, that father was a lie: Jenna had created him, worrying all the while about the psychological implications of the act and cautioning herself not to build a role model too perfect to emulate. Physically, the man she invented was smaller than average, as Ali was and Karim himself promised to be. In most other ways, he resembled Philippe. He was not a physician, though: Jenna had feared that someone someday might link “French doctor” with “vanished princess.” So Jacques Sorrel was a ship’s captain who had died bringing medical supplies to an epidemic-stricken port in Africa.

“Come on,” she said briskly. “Let’s go solve this problem.”

She knew the Chandlers slightly from school functions. They lived in elegant Beacon Hill, a brisk walk from Marlborough Street.

A maid answered the door and ushered Jenna and Karim in. Carolyn Chandler appeared, tall, blond, tennis-fit, and smiling graciously, if a bit nervously. Behind her, big Cameron Chandler loomed up like a cordial but concerned bear. The Chandlers appeared to be in their mid-thirties.

“I understand there was some trouble,” said Cameron. An indulgent smile indicated that he didn’t think the trouble very serious.

“There was. And I’ve come to get your assurance that there won’t be more.” Jenna did not smile.

“But,” interjected Carolyn, “I think your son hit ours first.”

“If that is so, he was wrong and will apologize. But from what I hear, Josh was attacking Karim’s heritage—his ethnic heritage. And that must stop. I’m sure you agree with that.”

Cameron Chandler nodded. “Of course, we do. Unfortunately, boys will be boys. Josh, come in here.”

Josh was inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than Karim. He had a badly split lip.

Cameron took charge. After a few blunt questions elicited what was prob- ably very close to the truth of the episode, he ordered the boys to shake hands and forget the whole thing. Jenna wasn’t sure she agreed with his method, but it seemed to work.

“Want to shoot some baskets?” Josh asked Karim. “Sure. Can I, Mom?”

“Just for a little while.”

The two scurried away from the council of adults. Feeling at loose ends, Jenna gratefully accepted Carolyn’s offer of coffee. Cameron joined them with a drink in hand.

The Chandlers didn’t exactly pry, but Jenna soon found herself reciting the fiction of her past, so well rehearsed now that it seemed almost like the truth. About her hosts, there seemed to be little to learn. They were what everything about them proclaimed them to be: old Boston society. Cameron was an investment banker; Carolyn devoted her spare time to tennis and charities. He was aggressively friendly, she cool and diffident.