I lean forward, gently kiss my father’s inert cheek through my face mask, and whisper in his ear so quietly that God can’t hear, “I’m going to take care of Maddie’s home and of yours too. And I’m going to find you.”

AS I EMERGE from the Wellington into the outside world, which bears almost no relation to life inside the hospital, it takes me a few seconds to recognize the leather-clad figure leaning against a powerful motorbike and staring at me with some concern.

“Hi, Sam,” Eddie says. “Your mother isn’t really picking you up, is she? Because she didn’t give you permission to come here in the first place, right?”

“Y-yes she did,” I stammer.

She hands me a helmet that’s a little too big for me. “You’re as bad a liar as I am. Come on, let’s go.”

Eddie

The gray streets of London stream past like rivers of sun-baked asphalt beneath the wheels. I feel the thrum of the motorbike’s accelerating engine between my legs and in my stomach and biceps. I catch whiffs of typical city aromas as they fly by. London always seems to smell of food wherever you go—doughnuts, chips and fried rice, hot soup and crispy waffles. There’s no other city in the Western world where the fragrances of fresh cooking are so present.

I keep the 500cc BMW on a tighter rein than usual with the boy snuggling against my back. He’s precious cargo, the son of the man who was my sun and my moon. Who was with me as I breathed and slept, a fount of desire and tenderness. My greatest failure. My greatest love.

Sam shows natural balance in the saddle and no sign of fear. Making this boy’s acquaintance has filled me with an absurd surge of joy, despite the terrible circumstances that brought us together.

Coincidences, my father used to say, are surprising events whose meaning only becomes apparent in retrospect. They’re a chance to change your life, and you can either seize that opportunity or spurn it. My mother hated that attitude. Coincidences scared her, whereas for my father they were a source of happiness and curiosity.

WHILE SAM was upstairs, I dropped in to see Henri. Fozzie Bear was reluctant to let me in. “Okay then, but only for a minute.”

How awfully quickly a minute passes! Henri seemed so drained. I told him what I’d wanted to tell him over two years ago but didn’t. Now, though, I whispered that old prayer to his silent body.

“Don’t go!”