“And that was it, sweetheart,” she said, her voice gentler than when she’d started.

There was an unpleasant pressure in Josh’s chest. What kind of person turns his back on his unborn child and just disappears? For decades?

“Is he still alive?” Josh asked.

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I put his name on the birth certificate because I wanted evidence, I think.”

“Why didn’t you try to track him down and ask for child support?”

“I didn’t want it. Honestly, I would’ve lived in a box on the street before doing that.” She shrugged. “But my father was still alive back then, so he made sure we didn’t have to. I transferred to Brown, and they gave me a stipend, and between that and what Papa gave us, we were fine.”

“Did you ever Google him? Just out of curiosity?”

She pulled a face. “Yes. Once, when you were about ten. He was teaching at Northwestern and lived in Chicago. Or he did twenty years ago. So there it is. Everything I know. He completely abandoned us. Never looked back. So there you have it for when you plan your joyful reunion.”

“It’s just curiosity, Mom. And something to do.”

“You could dig ditches. You could clean toilets. Volunteer at a shelter for battered women.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. And I do volunteer at the Hope Center. Also, I just got my red belt in karate. Everyone else’s mom was there for the belt ceremony. I was sorry you couldn’t make it.”

There. She smiled. She’d laughed so hard when he told her about his kiddie karate classes.

Her smile faded. “Josh . . . I kept my old post office box in Cambridge for ten years. You know. In case he wanted to contact me and hear about you.” Her eyes filled. “He never did.”

He inhaled slowly, held it for a second, then exhaled. “He sounds like quite a dick.”

“Can’t argue that point.”

“Do you know anything else, Mom?”

“No.” She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “His loss, Joshua. You are the best son in the world.”

He got up and hugged her, his fierce Viking mom. “I love you, Mom.” She hugged him back hard, then kissed his cheek soundly.

“I love you, too. Do what you have to do.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Finish your cake.”

JOSHUA FOUND CHRISTOPHER M. Zane with four clicks on Google after entering his father’s name, educational history and the word engineer.

And there he was. A photo and everything.

Christopher M. Zane had graying dark hair, olive skin and brown eyes, a square solid face, aquiline nose and a crooked left incisor that showed clearly when he smiled. Josh’s left incisor was also crooked. Identically crooked.

Objectively speaking, Josh could admit his father was handsome. A bit like George Clooney, but not as pretty, as Lauren would say.

He stared at the picture.