"What's the matter? Dad, are you in some kind of trouble?"
How could I answer? Damned right I was, but that wasn't the point of the call.
"Sweetie, just . . . just be especially careful. That's all. I'll try my best to make it up to you at Christmas. Maybe we can still get down to the islands somehow. And Amy . . ."
"Yeah."
"I love you, honey."
"Love you too, Dad. Look, I gotta get back."
"I'm sure Ms. Winters will give you some extra time."
"Don't bet on it. She's an old grouch. She's twenty-eight and an old maid."
Twenty-eight. Old? Good God. I keep forgetting what it's like to be thirteen and think of the future as the next three weeks, followed by a gaping void.
"Sweetheart, that's not exactly ancient. Believe me. She's probably still got half a dozen good years left."