A few more search terms, and Joshua learned that his paternal grandparents, Mike and Kerry Zane, owned a huge dairy farm in Rolling Prairie, Indiana. Two thousand cows, all the equipment and buildings necessary, everything very shiny and modern. There’d been a beautiful old home on the property as well, with a wraparound porch, four bedrooms and a six-stall barn for horses.

The farm had sold for $12.2 million fourteen years ago.

Funny, to think that his ancestors were wealthy.

Fourteen years ago, Joshua had been choosing colleges based on their financial aid packages and scholarships. Stephanie was frugal and had started saving money for his college before he popped out of her uterus, but her salary had never been anything more than modest until the past couple of years, when she moved into what might be considered comfortable. Before she’d gotten knocked up, Josh’s mom had planned to go to medical school. She was getting an online master’s degree now, thirty-one years after Josh had been born.

He clicked back on the two photos of his father.

He called Cookie Goldberg. “What do you want?” she said by way of answering.

“I’m going to Chicago tomorrow,” he said. “Book me a flight and find a quiet hotel, okay?”

27

Joshua

Month ten

Still December

SEVENTEEN HOURS AFTER calling Cookie, Joshua sat on a bench outside the building where Christopher M. Zane, PhD, was holding office hours. The sun was mercilessly bright, the sky a cold, brittle blue. The bench itself was iron, but Josh barely noticed the freezing temperature. No. He was watching the doors of the building where his father taught and held office hours.

Thank God Sarah had dropped the letter off early. Otherwise, he might have missed this window, since the semester was ending in a few days.

Right now, he was hoping that his father would use the main entrance when he left. He’d printed out the university’s photo and the one of his father’s family at the café and kept close watch on the door. Kids came in and out of the building, bundled against the cold. It was cold in a way the Northeast never was—a dry, biting cold that cut through every layer Josh had on. It was fine. He didn’t mind.

“Can I help you?” someone asked. She smiled and shifted her backpack.

“I’m waiting for Dr. Zane,” he said.

“Oh, he’s in office hours. He’s my professor.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. He’s great. One of the best in my program.”

Josh didn’t respond. She tilted her head, and he remembered to speak. “Glad to hear it.”

“Well. Happy holidays.”

He nodded. “You too.”