It had been three decades since she’d seen him in person, but even in the dusky light, every feature in that angular, excess-lined face was as familiar as her own: the long, aquiline nose; the deep-set eyes, black at the rims but with golden brown irises; his swarthy skin and knife-blade jaw. Silver threaded the dark hair that used to fly in a midnight storm cloud around his head. It was shorter now—just above his collar—and wirier, but still thick. She wasn’t surprised he’d made no effort to cover the threads of gray. He had little personal vanity. Although he’d always been tall for a rocker, now he seemed even taller because he was so thin. The sockets beneath those gaunt cheekbones were deeper than she remembered, the grooves at the corners of his eyes more sharply etched. He looked every one of his fifty-four years.

“Hey, little girl. Is your mother around?”

His voice was whiskey-soaked gravel. For the briefest moment, she felt the old breathlessness claim her. This man had once been her world. She’d flown across the ocean on an hour’s notice to be with him. London, Tokyo, West Berlin. It didn’t matter where. Night after night as he’d come offstage, she’d stripped the tight, sweat-soaked costume from his body, smoothed his long, damp hair with her fingers, parted her lips, parted her thighs, made him feel like a god.

But in the end, it was only rock and roll.

Their last face-to-face communication had taken place the day she’d told him she was pregnant. From then on, everything had been handled through an intermediary, including the blood test after Dean was born. How bitterly she’d resented Jack for that.

She pulled herself back together. “Just me and the frogs. How have you been?”

“My hearing’s shot, and I can’t get it up anymore. Otherwise…”

She only believed the first part. “Lay off the booze, cigarettes, and teenagers. You’ll be amazed how good you’ll feel.” She didn’t need to mention drugs. Jack had cleaned up his act years before she’d been able to.

A leather and silver bracelet slipped down on his wrist as he ambled forward. “No more teenagers, April. Cigarettes, either. I haven’t smoked for a couple of years. And hasn’t that been a mission from hell? As for the booze…” He shrugged.

“I guess you geezer rockers need at least one vice.”

“I have a few more than that. How about you?”

“I got a speeding ticket on my way to Bible study a few months ago, but that’s about it.”

“Bullshit. You’ve changed, but not that much.”

He hadn’t always been able to see through her so easily, but he was older now and, presumably, wiser. She shrugged her hair from her face. “I don’t have much interest in vice anymore. Too busy making a living.”