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generations of pure English breeding have convinced him that he’s on the hunt.”
    â€œYes, sir.” I turn and glance at Dad. “This is . . .”
    â€œLouis Keene.” Dad smiles, suddenly all sunshine and lollipops. “I’m Will’s uncle.” He shakes Dr. Melville’s hand and then reaches down to scratch the dog’s head. “Nice pooch.”
    â€œThank you.” Dr. Melville nods at my dad and then turns to me. “I make it a point to personally welcome all new students to Connaughton, but you’re a difficult man to reach, Mr. Shea. We’re glad to have you here.” He turns to my father. “You must be very proud of your nephew, Mr. Keene.”
    â€œOh, I am,” Dad says, beaming. “Will’s been like a son to me.”
    â€œAfter what happened to his parents on that island . . .” Dr. Melville shakes his head. “What a tragedy. I don’t know if you’ve heard, Will, but I actually wrote my doctoral thesis about the indigenous people of the Marshall Islands.”
    â€œNo,” I say, and feel my throat start to tighten and go dry. “I didn’t . . . know that.”
    â€œOh, yes indeed. That was one of the reasons I was so interested in meeting you. Which island was it that you grew up on? Ebeye?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œI know it well,” Dr. Melville continues. “In fact, I did most of my research from that military base on Kwajalein, which, as you know, is only a half mile away by ferry.” He scowls upward and then glances at me. “The name of that base slips my mind, though. What was it, again?”
    â€œIt was . . .” My chest is beginning to ache and I can feel sweat starting to pop out across my upper lip. For a second the morning sun feels ten times brighter than usual, blinding my eyes. Dr. Melville is staring directly at me now.
    â€œThe Reagan Test Site,” Dad says with absolute casualness. “Right, Will?”
    â€œThat’s right, of course.” Dr. Melville nods and smiles. “Have you been to Ebeye yourself, Mr. Keene?”
    â€œJust for a few days, right after Will was born,” Dad says, taking his time, as if there’s nothing he’d rather be doing than standing here discussing a place that he’s never even seen with his own eyes. “Beautiful lagoon, lovely area, but terribly overcrowded. The slum of the Pacific, they call it. I always hoped for something better for my favorite nephew. And now, thanks to you fine people”—he reaches out and pats Dr. Melville on the shoulder—“he’s going to have it.”
    â€œWell, we’re certainly delighted to have him,” Dr. Melville says, and glances at his watch. “I’ve got a meeting to attend, but we’ll talk later, Will, won’t we?”
    After Dr. Melville leaves, I feel Dad’s arm go tight around my shoulder again, delivering another painful squeeze.
    â€œSee how good we are together?” he whispers. “Just like the old days. I
knew
you were gonna pull out that dead-missionary-parents wheeze. Like I can read your mind, right? That’s why we’re
partners.
”
    I manage to nod.
    â€œRemember that.” His voice darkens, becoming more like the one I remember from after Mom died, a threatening growl with a thin layer of good humor painted over it. “I’m getting a room at the Motel 6 in town, but I’ll be in touch soon.” Then, with one last look around at the century-old marble buildings, Craftsman-style dorms, and immaculately groomed grounds, he drops his voice to just above a whisper. He’s practically rubbing his palms together with anticipation. “This is gonna be good,” he murmurs. “Son, we’re gonna make a
killing
here.”
    And like that, he’s gone.

Eight
    A FTER W ORLD H ISTORY , I’ VE GOT E CONOMICS 155: I NTRODUCTION