Albert shook his head, a “don’t have time” gesture. “Have you seen him? I mean, in the last hour?”

“Nope. I’d just about given up on him. Figured he didn’t want the job. I didn’t know he’d got hurt or anything.”

“If he comes in, will you call me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Len handed Albert a used envelope so he could scribble his cell number on the back. Once he’d done that, he turned around and went back to his truck.

He debated calling his wife and daughter to see if they’d had any better luck than he’d had. But he knew Monica would call him if she found Brian. And if Constance found him, she’d probably tell Monica, who’d pass the news on to her father.

Two blocks from the detailing place, Albert spotted him.

Brian was walking slowly along the sidewalk, his back to Albert. But he knew his son, even from behind. The boy had always had a bit of a slouch. He slowed the car as he came up alongside, powered down the window, and shouted, “Brian!”

Brian stopped, turned his head slowly, as if in a daze, then bent over slightly so he could see in through the window.

“Oh, hi, Dad,” he said.

He threw the car into park, got out, and ran over to his son. When he went to hug him, Brian raised a cautious hand.

“I’m kinda hurt,” he said. “My rib’s really sore.”

“What happened? Where did you go? You scared us all half to death.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Why’d you leave the hospital? What were you thinking? Why is there grass all over you?”

“I fell down.” He reconsidered. “I got beat up.”

“Christ, what’s happened to you?”

Brian carefully pulled up his shirt to show the bruising around his ribcage. “I sort of got kicked.”

“What? Who kicked you?”

“She’s married,” he said.

“Who’s married? Brian, start at the beginning.”

“She never told me she was married. I didn’t have any idea.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jessica.”

“Who’s Jessica?”

“Can I sit down? I’m really tired.”

“Come, get in the car.”

Albert led him to the passenger door, opened it, got him settled. He came around the other side and got back in behind the wheel.

“You hurt bad?”

“Sorta,” Brian said.

“I’m taking you back to the hospital.” He moved to put the truck into drive.

“Not . . . yet. Can I sit here a minute?”

Albert turned the ignition key to the off position, killing the engine. “Sure. What happened, Brian? Talk to me.”

The young man was struggling not to cry. “So I met this girl. Jessica. We went out a few times. I thought she was kind of nice.”

“Okay.”