“Karen’s stranded?”
“Yeah. She’s at that Italian restaurant on Madison. Can you get her? Please?”
There was something strange about the way he said Dad isn’t answering.
Daniel and I had been friends long enough for me to recognize the difference between his ordinary irritation and something he was trying not to discuss.
But I didn’t push.
“Send me the address.”
“Thanks, man. I owe you.”
“You owe me so much that the national debt is starting to look reasonable.”
He hung up before I could finish.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled beneath the restaurant’s striped awning.
Karen stood near the entrance holding a small black umbrella. She wore a dark blue dress, a camel-colored coat, and black heels that looked completely unsuitable for the weather.
Her normally immaculate hair had begun to curl around her face. Even from the driver’s seat, I could see that she had been crying.
I unlocked the passenger door.
