Fray’s plane is a Gulfstream 550, which Jake understands is a big deal. The plane has a pilot, a co-pilot, and a bubbly flight attendant named Heather. After Fray and Jake take seats in the living area—they’re facing each other in buff leather chairs with a high-gloss table between them—Heather asks what they would like to drink.

Jake is about to ask Heather for a Bloody Mary—why not celebrate this crazy experience?—when she says, “We have Classic Black, the Platinum, and—” She pauses dramatically. “This jet is one of the few places in the world where you can get a bottomless cup of Frayed Edge Select Reserve.”

Coffee. She’s talking about coffee, of course.

“We’ll have two cups of the reserve, thanks, Heather,” Fray says. He looks at Jake. “Do you take anything in it?”

“Cream, two sugars.” As soon as the words are out, he wonders if Fray will disapprove. Maybe drinking the reserve with cream and sugar is like dropping an ice cube into a glass of Château Lafite.

Takeoff is smooth. Fray gazes out the window as Nantucket slips from view.

“Now that was a good weekend,” Fray says. “I had no idea that was how things would turn out.”

Heather appears with two mugs, the signature silver pot, and a pitcher of cream and tiny bowl of organic sugar cubes for Jake. She winks at Fray. “I saw you on Page Six, Mr. Dooley.”

“That was me with Leland!” he says. “I can’t wait to introduce you to her.”

“I’ve subscribed to Leland’s Letter for over ten years,” Heather says. “I didn’t know the two of you were friends.”

“It’s a long story,” Fray says. “Literally.”

Jake sips his coffee. It’s by far the best coffee he’s ever tasted.

Fray says, “Heather, would you pack up a couple pounds of the reserve for Jake to take home?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Dooley.”

Once Heather leaves them, Jake says, “So will you and Leland continue to see each other? Aren’t you worried about the distance?”

“I’m going to New York next weekend,” Fray says. “I have a brownstone on East Third Street that I had renovated and I’ve never spent the night there. That’s about to change.”

A brownstone in the East Village that he’s never even slept in? It’s only sinking in now just how wealthy Fray is. This is his jet, those pilots are his pilots, Heather is his flight attendant. Whenever Jake has thought about Frazier Dooley in the past thirty years, his mind always conjured the angry young man who disappeared down the beach with a bottle of Jim Beam.