“I confronted Bob about it and he shrugged it off, said it was no big deal, that everyone did it. But I refused to send the invoices like that. It was the first time I’d ever really stood up to him, and it didn’t go over well.”

“What happened?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘Christ, Joe. You’re as much of a pussy now as you’ve always been.’ I told him being a pussy was better than being a crook, and he took a wild swing at me.”

“He hit you?”

I shook my head. “I ducked, and he missed. And then I laughed because I knew that would piss him off even more. After that, he told me to clean out my desk, get the fuck out of his office, and never come back.”

Cal was peering at me, rapt. “Jesus.”

“I guess he felt bad after that. A couple days later he sent me an e-mail apologizing and asking me to come back, but I never responded to it.” I shrugged, stared down into my glass. “He sold the company a few months later, retired to Vail, and no doubt wrote me off as another dead son. We haven’t spoken since.”

“Damn, Harp. I’m sorry to hear that. Really. What about Ingrid? How’s she doing?”

“Happily remarried and living in Texas. She’s going to flip when she hears we’ve reconnected.”

We finished eating, ordered more beer, and Cal fixed me with his eyes. “Do you ever think about it?” he said. “Playing music, I mean? Do you ever wish you’d come to Brooklyn?”

I bit the inside of my cheek and ran my thumb along the metal edge of the table, pressing it into the pointy, ninety-degree angle of the corner until it hurt.

“Every day,” I mumbled.

Cal looked crushed when I told him that, and right away I wished I’d lied.

“What about now?” he said, his brow furrowed, concerned. “You’re happy, right?”

“Happy?” It was like I didn’t even understand the question. Then a vision of October making breakfast in my T-shirt flashed before my eyes and I smiled, but the magnitude of that insight racked me with guilt and dread.

“Marriage? Kids?” Cal asked.

“Not even close.”

“You seeing anybody?”

I shook my head. “Broke up with someone a couple months ago. Haven’t really had time since I got this job.”

Cal and I closed the pub down that night, and even though Casa Diez was less than two miles away, I didn’t think I could drive up the dark, winding road to get there as shit-faced as I was. I suggested we walk home, but Cal didn’t think he’d make it. He called October and asked her if she would come and get us.