Silence. I could hear her breathing. Finally, she said, “Kyle York lives in San Luis Obispo. He’s an allergist.” She hung up abruptly, leaving me to deliver my penitent “Thank you” to dead air.

I tried Directory Assistance, asking for a listing for Kyle York, M.D. I expected an office number, but surprisingly the operator offered me a choice. “You want the office or his home?”

“I might as well take both.”

She gave me the numbers, which I jotted on a card. I knew if I called the office, I’d either be left on terminal hold, listening to shitty music, or some officious receptionist would quiz me at length about my need to speak to him. I was thinking I’d wait until the end of the day and try his home phone, but on impulse I dialed. After five rings, a woman picked up. I said, “Mrs. York?”

“Well, yes, but you’re probably looking for my daughter-in-law, and she’s not here right now. She’s taken the dog to the grooming shop and won’t be back for an hour and a half. May I tell her who called?” Her voice sounded slightly wobbly, as though from disuse.

“Are you Dr. York’s mother?”

“Yes, I am. May I help you with something?” She sounded pleased that I knew of her existence. I wasn’t sure that she’d be quite so pleased when I told her my purpose.

I had one split second to decide how to play the conversation. The truth didn’t have a chance. “I’m actually an old friend of Kyle’s from elementary school. We lost touch years ago, but someone said he had a practice in San Luis Obispo so I thought I’d give him a call.”

“That’s very sweet of you. What did you say your name was?”

“Tanner-Tannie-Ottweiler.”

“You must be Jake Ottweiler’s girl.”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.”

“How’s your father?”

“He’s fine. He sends his regards.”

“Oh, he always was the sweetest man. I haven’t seen him now for sixteen or seventeen years. I didn’t leave Serena Station until a couple of years ago, when I moved in with Kyle and his wife,” she said, warming to the subject. She went on for a bit, clearly lonely and desperate for human contact. Of course I felt like a heel, but I never set her straight. It’s not nice to lie to old ladies. Even I know that much.

We exchanged reminiscences, hers real, mine invented. Then I slithered my way over to the point. “Whatever happened to that cousin of his, the one from Bakersfield?”

“You mean Ty?”

“Exactly. As I remember, he went back to Bakersfield on the spur of the moment and that’s the last I heard. How’s he doing these days?”

“Fine.”

“Do you have a number for him?”