In truth, it did not. And once again-with Win wearing reading glasses and the two of them whining about the new world of social networks-Myron felt old.

“Check out the picture comments,” Myron said.

Win gave him the flat eyes. “People comment on a sonogram?”

“Just read them.”

Win did. Myron waited. He had pretty much memorized the page. There were, he knew, twenty-six comments in all, mostly various good wishes. Suzze’s mother, the aging poster child for Evil Stage (Tennis) Mom, for example, had written: “I’m going to be a grandma, everyone! Yay!” Someone named Amy said, “Aww cute!!!” A jocular “Takes after his old man!;)” came from a session drummer who used to work with HorsePower. A guy named Kelvin wrote, “Congrats!!” Tami asked, “When’s the baby due, sweetie?”

Win stopped three from the bottom. “Funny guy.”

“Which one?”

“Some turdlike humanoid named Erik typed”-Win cleared his throat, leaned closer to the screen-“ ‘Your baby looks like a sea horse!’ ” and then Erik the Riot put the letters “LOL.”

“He’s not her problem.”

Win was not placated. “Old Erik still might be worth a visit.”

“Just keep going.”

“Fine.” Win’s facial expressions rarely changed. He had trained himself in both business and combat to show nothing. But a few seconds later, Myron saw something darken in his old friend’s eyes. Win looked up. Myron nodded. Because now Myron knew that Win had found the two words.

They were there, at the bottom of the page. The two words were in a comment made by “Abeona S,” a name that meant nothing to him. The profile picture was some sort of symbol, maybe Chinese lettering. And there, all in caps, no punctuation, were the two simple yet wrenching words:

“NOT HIS”

Silence.

Then Win said, “Yowza.”

“Indeed.”

Win took off his glasses. “Need I ask the obvious question?”