“Yes. Believe me, I know that. I try to be a good father to them, but I can never stop feeling doomed in some way because of what I did to you. If the universe ever took one of them, I’d probably deserve it.” His voice broke.

Drama queen. Still. Either he was a fantastic Method actor, or he was genuinely affected by Joshua’s surprise appearance, because the tears continued to rain down.

“I don’t think the universe works that way,” Josh said.

“I’m so sorry,” his father said. “I’m so very, very sorry.”

Josh inclined his head a little bit, acknowledging the words.

His father wiped his eyes on the cocktail napkin, blew his nose, then folded his hands on the table, and Josh realized with a start that those were his hands, twenty-five years from now. Same shape, same knuckles, same shape to the fingernails.

“Do you love your kids?” Josh asked.

His father’s eyes filled again. “I do.”

“Good.” He figured he should add something. “They have unusual names.”

“My wife picked them out. I didn’t feel like I—oh, God, I’m making this all about me. But I didn’t feel like I deserved to name anyone. If my kids’ names sound like something you’d name a dog on a horse ranch, well. They’re fine. They’re good kids.”

Josh almost smiled.

“Can I ask you some questions, Joshua?”

“Sure.” Why not?

“Was your childhood . . . okay?”

Josh nodded. “It was. It was very happy. I’m sure my mother could’ve used some help, but she figured it all out.”

“She was brilliant.”

“She is brilliant. No love lost for you, though.”

“I don’t blame her in the least.” He hesitated. “Did she ever marry?”

Josh considered not answering. Then again, why not? “No.”

Christopher nodded, looking at the table. “I had hoped . . . I pictured her marrying. I hoped you might have a nice stepfather.”

“Nope.” He had Ben, though. The memory of Ben, teaching him to ride a bike, making paper airplanes, made his chest ache. He had had a father. A great father. He still did.

“Does she need money? Do you?” Christopher asked.

“We would both burn your money at this point,” Josh said.

“If you needed it, that’s the least I could—”

A red flame danced in Joshua’s left eye. “Dr. Zane. We don’t need your money. If we were starving, we wouldn’t take it.”

His father nodded. “I get it. And I respect that.” The red flame died down.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. A few people had come into the pub, but they were at the bar. Snatches of conversation and laughter floated past like smoke.

“Um . . . what do you do for a living, Joshua?”

Google would tell him whatever he wanted to know, so Josh figured he might as well. “I’m a medical device engineer.”