“Maybe both, but it doesn’t matter. Whatever the reason, Gabe is a marvel. I bring him out to those motherfuckers … introduce him to them—my good-looking concert pianist son who got accepted to Harvard but turned it down to go to Juilliard at sixteen. I look them straight in the eye when I brag about him. I may be just a pimp. But my kid can kick your kid’s ass any day of the week.”

AT TEN-FIFTEEN IN the morning, they announced boarding. Decker placed his phone on the sensor that read his e-ticket. When he finally looked at the seat assignment, he realized he was in first class. It was definitely his name on the ticket. He sat in the second row on the aisle, a grin on his face. His kids had upgraded Rina and him on their international flight to Israel, and now it looked like McAdams had upgraded him on this coast-to-coast journey.

As Decker settled in, stretching out with newfound legroom, the window seat next to him remained empty even though the plane was packed—anything to Los Angeles was always full. He called McAdams as the last few stragglers were coming into the cabin.

“Thank you, Tyler, you didn’t have to do that. But the room is much appreciated.”

“You’re very welcome,” McAdams answered.

“How’s it going?”

“Pretty good.” McAdams entered the cabin. “How’s it going with you?”

“Great!” Decker looked up, put the phone down, and stared.

“Fancy meeting you here.” McAdams tossed his leather bag onto the window seat.

“What are you doing in Orlando? I thought we were meeting up in Los Angeles.”

“I’ve never been to Epcot,” he said. “A little dated, but I suppose it was revolutionary in its time.”

“Tyler, I’m serious. Why did you come out here?”

“Impulsivity, I guess. Blame it on my prefrontal cortex.” He slid inside and picked up his bag. “Figured we can chat on the way to the West Coast.”

Dumbfounded, Decker had nothing more to say. Tyler was approaching thirty, which gave his face a bit more gravitas. But he still had youth and good looks, with hazel eyes and dark, curly hair. He wore a black T-shirt under a lightweight denim-colored seersucker jacket and jeans.

McAdams peeked inside his bag. “I’ll just take out my notes. So how was your call to Pauline’s sister?” He consulted the papers. “Marion Vanderberg.”

“She took it fairly well.” Decker paused. “She didn’t seem too shocked. She hadn’t heard from Pauline in years.”

“How many years is years?”

“I don’t know. It could be two, it could be ten.”

“You didn’t ask her?”

“Since we’re going out there anyway, I thought I’d ask the questions face-to-face.”

“Yeah, can you remind me why we’re going out—except for you to see your old partner?”