Riley stopped, glaring at his brother like he was nuts. How many hundreds of times had he gone over this with Mattin hotel rooms, in breakfast joints, in the cab of the pickup on the road to somewhere else they wouldn't find Kat and the boy? BettyAnn had said that Kat and her son were in Patterson, California. She spoke the words and then she died. That information was the only thing Riley and Matt ever had to go on in the months that followed. It was all they could pass on to the private detectives and the police. It was the only thing that kept them going. And Riley remembered those words like BettyAnn had spoken them one second ago, not one year.

She was in the ICU at Davis Memorial. Her fight was over. BettyAnn had requested that she not be resuscitated, and the DNR order was slapped above the head of the bed like an orange neon beacon, impossible to miss.

By that time, all they could do was keep her as comfortable as possible until her body gave out. He'd come by on morning rounds and she was lying gray and listless with a white sheet tucked around bony ribs. Her eyes flashed when she saw Riley; then she sent Virgil out of the room with a weak flop of her hand. Riley was surprised to see Virgil leave without a word of protest.

BettyAnn motioned for Riley to come close. She whispered so softly he had to put his left ear down to her lips.

You have a boy, she said. Kat had a child.

Riley pulled back enough to stare into BettyAnn's sunken eyes. They were filled with sadness but something more. It looked almost like love.

His throat was suddenly so tight and dry he could hardly speak. Are you certain?

She nodded, the effort causing her to push the morphine pump for another dose of relief.

Where did they go?

In that surreal moment, Riley heard his own question and thought it sounded comically matter-of-fact, like he was asking BettyAnn if his little family had gone to a matinee or out to get ice cream. But his mind was spinning, his heart was ready to leap from his body, because Kat was somewhere with his child/his child/and BettyAnn was telling him this because she was dying. She was dying at that instant.

Hang on, BettyAnn. Riley focused his eyes on hers, seeing how she struggled to stay with him. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Please.

Just tell me where I can find them.

She said something. He couldn't hear it. The anxiety ripped through him.

Again, BettyAnn. Please /say it again./ Yes, Riley remembered what she'd said. He stared at Matt, standing there on the sidewalk with that stupid grin on his face, and he humored him by reciting the exact words yet one more time: BettyAnn said,?Patterson in California.'

Matt shook his head, his smile widening. Not /exactly./ No?

Nope.

Then what did she say? No more of this bullshit, Matt. What's going on?

Matt put his hand on Riley's shoulder. BettyAnn Cavanaugh said, ?Patterson /and/ California.' It's an intersection in a working-class section of Baltimore.

Riley's mouth fell open.

Kat and Aidan lived at 456 California Avenue until 1994, in a row house smack across the street from Patterson Park, in Highlandtown. She wasn't using her real last nameshe took on the name of the woman she stayed with.

Riley stared at his brother for a long, silent moment, as the events of the last year of his life raced through his brain. BettyAnn's news. The wedding. The breakup. The private detective. The three-month leave of absence he took to find Kat and his son. Oregon, Texas, South Dakota, and a dozen more states that were all a blur to him now. Every single moment of that year was lived knowing he had a child he might never find.

And his son had been a five-hour drive away.

Did you hear what I said, Bro?

Riley nodded, awash in the randomness of it all, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. So he did a little of both.

It was impossible to sleep in this place. How was a man supposed to recover from having a balloon shoved into his groin if he couldn't get a decent night's rest?

Virgil lay awake in the hospital room, a sickening yellow night-light casting its glow on all the odd shapes around him. Somehow, being alone in the hospital felt a hell of a lot lonelier than being alone at home.

At least at home, there were no nurses giving a play-by-play on how it was a shame he had no visitors or flowers.

Even his old bat of a sister hadn't bothered to come see him. She had called and spoken to the Chinese doctor, so at least it appeared she cared whether he lived or died. But Rita might have done that only for show.

Riley Bohland had stopped by, but that was probably required because he was Virgil's doctor. All Bohland wanted to know was whether Virgil had heard from Kat.

He had no idea what was going on with those two, but her showing up had obviously fucked with Bohland's head.

Virgil didn't know what to do with himself, trapped in here like a lab rat. He tried to read the paper but couldn't stay focused. He tried to watch TV, but it put his neck at an uncomfortable angle. And since sleeping was out of the question, that left him a lot of time to think.

He could see how having two heart attacks might make a man reevaluate things. It's unsettling when you almost die. Fortunately, there wasn't a damn thing he regretted about the way he'd lived his life.

But he couldn't stop thinking about BettyAnn and the secret she could have told Bohland. Virgil hadn't laid a hand on his wife in twenty years, so it couldn't have been that. It was something to do with Kat, no doubt, because BettyAnn never forgot that the two of them were sweethearts once. The whole business bothered Virgil.

BettyAnn used to try to hide the fact that she'd been crying about Kat, but other than that, the woman lived an open book. Virgil told her how much money to spend at the IGA, and she'd show him the receipt to prove that's exactly how much she spent. He told her what clothes to wear and what hairstyle to choose, and that's how she dressed and styled her hair. He told her who she could and could not associate with, and that's what she did.

She was a simple woman who needed his guidance to stay happy and peaceful. She'd long ago proven she couldn't handle freedom, so Virgil gave her the structure she craved. The idea that there would be anything in her head that he hadn't put there left him uneasy. BettyAnn was his plaything, his doll baby.

So how come his doll baby had something to tell Bohland just before she died? How come she specifically asked that it never be revealed to her husband, her king?

For the first time in twenty years, Virgil wanted a drink. It was no coincidence that the craving had returned the moment Kat did.

Madeline studied the low-cut, fur-trimmed neckline of Carrie's wedding dress and realized three things simultaneouslythat it was not the same gown she had last year, that it really was stunning, and that Madeline never should have passed on those lies to Kat, because at some point in the very recent past, Carrie Mathis had become crazier than a hoot owl.

Too much cleavage? Carrie cupped her satin-supported breasts and sashayed her way to the kitchen sink and back to the table. I'm pursuing an understated, sexy look, you know? Smokingly hot, but in a Grace Kelly sort of way.

Carrie swished until the white satin train swept around her feet. I want Riley's eyes to absolutely bug out of his head when he sees this!

Madeline nodded, not sure what to say, thinking that Carrie would have no problem getting Riley's eyes to bug out because he'd get one look at the woman he'd told to get lost a year ago, all dolled up in her wedding dress, ready for a secret wedding where he was expected to be the groom, and his eyes would bug out just fine. Madeline became vaguely aware of the nausea creeping into her belly.