“He’s put our whole family back together again, good as new, with that computer game you gave him. You can design each character to look like anyone you want. It’s his way of coping—with everything.” Anna looked at Alex sadly, well aware that the little boy had already absorbed enough shocks in his young life, with their marriage breakup and his grandmother’s death, to begin to process the news about his uncle properly. “He’s apparently pleaded with someone called the ‘Grim Reaper’ to bring Will back to life—which isn’t usually successful, he tells me, but somehow our Max managed to persuade him.”

Alex shook his head in a mixture of humor and disbelief. He privately thought this sounded perverse, but understood the wish well enough. “Let’s go, Max—show me how it works. Are you going to bring the disks back to Chelsea tonight?”

As Alex stood to put his wine on the mantel over the fireplace, he physically jumped and almost dropped the glass. A postcard had caught his eye. “The Chartres labyrinth?” He looked at Anna for an explanation.

“Will. He sent it to Max. It was so strange, Alex—it arrived on the Saturday morning after the funeral. It was like a voice from another world. It’s postmarked Friday, September nineteenth. Just the day before the accident.” She lifted it off the shelf and handed it to him to read. There was an intersecting group of five squares on the back, like a puzzle.

We never know where our path will lead. I’ll bring you back here in the spring or at midsummer, and we’ll walk this together. It’s the best game of hopscotch ever. See you soon, love to Mum—Will x

“He sent one to me, with just the same pattern on it, but it was from Lucca in Tuscany.” He looked at Anna, thinking. “Could I borrow this for a few days? I’d like to make a copy.”

Anna’s eyes widened with outright amazement. Was Alex being sentimental? Or was it just for him to try to recapture his brother’s last days? Both seemed so unlikely. Pleased to do anything, she put it into his hands. “Will you copy it? Max won’t want to lose it.” Alex put the card inside his suit jacket and climbed the stairs to his son.

They were just bundling out the door with the overnight bag and computer software when Alex’s cell phone rang. Anna placed a hand on Max’s head and resisted the temptation to sigh: she was waiting for the word that the weekend was off, that the hospital wanted Dr. Stafford back immediately. Fridays and Saturdays were the busiest time for organ transplantation—which had destroyed their best-laid plans a dozen times.

“Alex Stafford.”

“Alex, it’s Siân.” Her voice was high-strung.

“Everything all right?”