Approaching the end of his list, Keith’s eyes alighted on his father’s name, next to the same phone number he’d had as a child. There were so many numbers he used regularly now that he didn’t know by heart, but this one was carved into his memory. He dialed and, predictably, his father picked up on the third ring.

“Hi, Dad,” Keith said. “Did I call too late?”

“Nah,” his father answered. “Just watching the Phillies in extra innings. How are you, son? Everything good?”

“Well, actually, not all good, Dad.” Keith proceeded to explain, in layman’s terms, what was happening with the SEC case. He admitted that he’d probably behaved rashly and made a mistake in conducting the trade, but he hadn’t meant harm, hadn’t been trying to commit large-scale fraud. Keith wasn’t sure what he’d expected from his father, but it wasn’t the uncomfortably long silence that followed his explanation.

When his father finally spoke, the first thing he said was, “You have a good lawyer, son?”

“I . . . yeah, I do. Carl’s got a lot of experience in these cases.” Keith fumbled through a response. “And I’ve already put aside a trust account for Karina, so she won’t have to worry about paying for college or grad school.” As soon as he said it, he felt himself petty for making this point with his father, as if to prove some superiority. “Listen, Dad. It’ll be fine.” Keith found himself trying to placate his father. “Anway, I know it’s late there. I’ll let you go.”

After they said good night, Keith laid his head back against the pillows, feeling more unsettled than before. He tried to console himself that his father wasn’t sophisticated in these matters. Keith shouldn’t have expected him to understand. But another thought occurred to him, which he ventured to examine instead of instinctively pushing it away. His father certainly had his faults, as a man and a father, but he’d always been honest, if not always successful. In that aspect, perhaps, Keith had not matched his father’s achievements at all.

* * *

In the five days since arriving in Pune, India, Jaya hadn’t had one decent night’s sleep, though she wasn’t sure if this was due to the ten-hour time difference, the spartan cot on which she slept at a fellow devotee’s home, or the fourteen hours a day she spent at the Guru’s ashram. She woke each day at dawn when the pigeons began their guttural clucking outside and was so consumed with anticipation for the day ahead, she couldn’t return to sleep. She had planned to come down here for a week after visiting her parents in Delhi, but had now extended her stay by a few more nights, thanks to the generosity of her host, Aparna.

Aparna was a widow only a decade senior to Jaya, though she looked much older. She had a slender frame, wore all-white saris and had long stopped coloring her hair, which she wore in a braid or bun. She had moved to Pune several years ago from Mumbai, after her husband had passed away, to be closer to the ashram. Her modest bungalow was a half-mile away and she spent most of her days at the ashram, sometimes traveling with the Guru’s entourage to lectures in other regions of India. She was a cheerful and composed woman who seemed more inwardly fulfilled than many.