“Coffee and club soda, Tim,” he told the bartender. “We’ll save you the trip and take them with us.”

An interminable minute later, and they had their beverages.

It was almost four, and already getting dark. Josh followed his father to the booth farthest in the back. They took off their coats and sat. It was a nice pub. Rather ordinary, but homey.

“So this is . . . quite a surprise,” Christopher said, taking a big breath.

“I’m sure it is.”

“How old are you, Joshua?”

“Thirty-one as of October fourteenth.” The worst birthday of his life, this last one. The first without Lauren. The first as a widower.

“Jesus. God. I . . .” He took a long pull of his club soda. “I guess I should ask what you’d like to . . . do. Or say.”

“I wanted to meet you. Ask you a few things.”

“Right. Right. Of course.” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “Sorry, this is a lot to take in.” Another swallow or two of club soda. “Uh . . . how is your . . . your mother?”

“Alive. That’s all you get to know.”

Christopher flinched. “Fair enough.”

“I know you’re married and have three children with cowboy names. I know where you grew up, where you went to school, that you have a sister named Eileen. I know your parents sold their farm in Indiana and now live in Arizona. I know you owned a café in Wicker Park.”

“Jesus, the internet really does tell all.” He blew out a breath. “Do you want money?”

Josh couldn’t help a bitter laugh. “It’s a little late for child support.”

“I mean, I do owe you. And there is money. Now. There wasn’t always. The farm sold—”

“I know, and I don’t care. I want you to tell me how you could leave a pregnant twenty-year-old and your unborn child.”

Christopher M. Zane leaned back in his seat and looked at the ceiling for a long minute. When he looked back at Josh, his eyes were full of tears.

“I don’t have a good answer for that. There is no answer, other than I was a shitty, stupid kid—”

“You were twenty-five.”

“And as immature and stupid as a sixteen-year-old.” He drained his club soda. “Let me text my wife and tell her I’ll be late. Hang on a sec.”

Josh waited.

Christopher texted, then turned off his phone and put it in his coat pocket. Josh appreciated that. The man took another deep breath. “Listen, I can’t justify what I did. Walking away, I mean. I didn’t plan it. I was taking part in a summer project in Austin that year, and I fully intended to go back to Boston. And then I stopped home in Indiana. I hadn’t told my parents about . . . you. Or Stephanie.” He looked at his hands. “They . . . my parents, that is . . . they were so happy to see me.”