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seemed every kind of wrong.
    She’d make his trading card first thing. Get him out on the market. It probably was good that she hadn’t taken a picture of his naked chest. There’d be a riot at St. Marks.
    Her mother’s call from the kitchen snagged her attention, but a quick look at the clock got her moving. She had a huge day ahead, and now she was going to have to put together Nate’s card.
    It was possible that would have to wait. The lunch group wouldn’t get together for another week. For now, she’d look at the pictures, make sure she had a winner. She hoped so. It would be difficult to come up with another excuse.
    “I’ll have something at the plant,” Shannon said as she got her coat from the peg. “I’ll be in and out all day.”
    “Don’t get doughnuts,” her mother said, popping up in the dining room. “Your father can’t say no.”
    Shannon opened her mouth to object, then sighed. “How do you do that?”
    “I’m your mother. You can’t keep secrets from me.”
    “That’s what you think,” she said, putting her phone into her purse.
    “You and Steven Patterson. Coney Island.”
    Shannon froze. “What are you talking about?”
    Her mother laughed. “Don’t try to fool me, missy.”
    It was time for Shannon to leave before she started thinking about that tattoo and her face gave her mother more ammunition. She opened the door, but only made it halfway out.
    “At least the tattoo wasn’t a tramp stamp,” her mom called out. “That would have been really embarrassing.”
    Shannon closed the door behind her and blushed all five blocks to the subway.
    * * *
    N ATE STOOD BEHIND THE barricade that separated the street from the construction zone. He had no idea how long he’d been standing, but when he sipped his coffee, it was lukewarm, leaning toward cold. The sign on the chain-link fence was as familiar to him as the sound of the cranes and earthmovers. Brenner & Gill. Even after he’d inherited half of the firm, the Brenner referred to his father, not himself. And in about fifteen minutes, he would be meeting with Albert Gill, his father’s partner.
    Nate had known Albert most of his life. Yet he didn’t know Gill well. The basics, yes. His wife was Patty and he had two daughters, Melody and Harper. There had been Christmas dinners, because the Gills celebrated, and a couple of times they’d had Hanukkah dinners instead, even though Nate’s family were barely observant. But the families had never been friends. His father hadn’t had a gift for friendship, either. It was something of a miracle that he’d gotten married at all, given he preferred to be alone.
    That’s how they’d found him. Slumped over his drafting table on a Monday morning. He’d died the Friday before sometime between seven and midnight. According to the coroner’s office, he’d gone quickly, hadn’t felt a thing.
    Nate had come back for the funeral, but he hadn’t stuck around. It was a quiet business, and he’d been surprised to find that his mother and Leah had sat shivah for the whole week. Nate had worn a yarmulke, although he’d left it in the box by the door when he’d gone back to his hotel. His mother had made sure his old bedroom was left open for him, but he’d felt no need to stay.
    And while he’d mourned his father, it wasn’t what he’d been led to believe was normal. Frank Brenner had been more of an idea than a dad. He showed up at the important events, paid for most of Nate’s college education, but their relationship had been about expectations and conditions. Since Nate had stopped even trying to be his father’s ideal son after graduation, there’d been very little left.
    Now he would meet with Albert over lunch, and they’d have an awkward half hour when they tried to reminisce. Nate hoped their meal would be delivered quickly. Food would be an essential distraction until they got to the heart of the matter.
    Albert wanted out. It was the details Nate didn’t know, the