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shrink with radiation. That it didn’t matter if it was malignant. That waiting on surgery was the right thing to do. I definitely didn’t want to hear about skydiving. “Is there anything we should be doing now?” I asked.
    â€œJust sit chilly until your appointment with Dr. Novak next Monday.”
    â€œMonday?” I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice. “Can’t we see him before then?”
    Ryder held my eyes. “Were you planning on going somewhere?” We stared at each other.
    â€œI’m sure Ryder did the best he could making the appointment,” Jamie murmured.
    â€œI’m right here,” Ryder said evenly, “if anything happens between now and then. Dr. Novak can tell you a lot more about what’s going to happen from here on in. But educate yourselves as much as possible, so you know what questions to ask. The Internet can be a great resource, but sometimes the good ol’ library is more reliable. If you do use the Internet, don’t panic if you come across confusing or scary information. Just ask. I’m always available.” He sounded like a stranger, a walking textbook on how to be cordial to your patients.
    â€œSo, you’re not going to be the one treating him?” I asked.
    â€œI’m a surgeon, Jenny. I operate. Dr. Novak will be in charge of radiating the affected area. When that treatment has been completed, we’ll do another MRI and then—”
    â€œI know. Then you’ll decide if surgery is necessary.” I felt like I’d been slapped. “But basically we’ll be working with Novak?”
    â€œDon’t worry. Dale is the best there is. Sterling”—he looked at my dad—“you’ll be in great hands. And I’ll be here the whole time. We’ll get through this together.”
    The room fell silent.
    My dad shifted in his seat to face me. “Well, sweetheart, your mother and I have to head to Peter Doherty’s office. We should leave now if we’re going to drop you at home first.”
    â€œAttorney Doherty? Why?” I asked.
    He put his glasses back on. “Just routine … stuff.”
    Routine? What could possibly be routine now? And then it hit me: his will. He was settling his estate.
    *   *   *
    â€œWhat in the world did Ryder look like?” Hadley asked. His South African accent sounded even more pronounced, which probably meant he’d had too much wine the night before.
    I stood in the foyer, not wanting to enter the living room. Familiar, I wanted to tell Hadley. So familiar that I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. But instead I said, “He looks like a Brooks Brothers ad. All ironed shirts and monogrammed cuffs, the poster boy for grown-ups.” Sunlight was streaming through the windows, lighting up the dark wood of the piano.
    â€œWell, love, we are grown-ups now, aren’t we?” The phone was all echoey because he had me on speaker while he flipped through proofs.
    â€œYeah, I guess.” Too grown-up to work with kids, I thought.
    â€œThat’s the problem with these boys—they don’t stay eighteen forever.” I wished I were there, lounging on the velvet couch in Hadley’s West Palace gallery, drinking a latte from the Cowgirl Café while he tried to find the hottest up-and-coming photographer. “Is he married or gay, and what in heaven’s name has he been doing since he was curled around your tiny finger?”
    â€œHe’s not wearing a ring. You didn’t tell Nico, did you?”
    â€œThese lips are sealed. I mean in terms of talking; otherwise, love, they’re wide open. Oh, I have to go.” He sounded fluttery. “His royal highness is calling, and if I don’t jack him off with phone sex, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
    â€œYou haven’t broken up with him yet? It’s so unlike you to hold on to the clingy