Maguire paused for breath, but Carolina didn’t comment. She’d stopped breathing altogether. For the first time in months, she easily put aside her own life and problems. It didn’t take rocket science to figure out that Maguire was the second son, that he was talking about himself.

“A wife or two later, a third son came into the picture. Tommy was a complete surprise. Unfortunately, when Gerald’s wife was eight months pregnant, he thought she’d enjoy taking a hang-glider ride. Apparently, they both did enjoy it, until the glider crashed. Gerald wasn’t hurt, but his wife went into premature labor. She never made it out of the delivery room, lots of complications. Tommy lived, but he was born weeks too soon, was never right.

“Gerald solved the problem of Tommy like he did everything else. Threw money at it. The kid had full-time help at home, every toy ever made, was dragged to the best medical specialists on a regular basis. Since all the records pointed to the premature birth, the lack of oxygen-and maybe to the recreational drugs Gerald and his wife enjoyed-no one really expected to find miracles for Tommy. But at least there was no fear he wouldn’t always be well taken care of.”

Carolina watched him. He was restless now, couldn’t sit still, had to fuss with the coals again, even though the fire was vibrantly shooting gold sparks into the night sky. “Last summer, Gerald put Tommy in a special place. He’d heard there was this really unusual summer program near South Bend, a school that had fresh ideas for the range of kids who just can’t seem to progress because of their mental disabilities. Gerald wasn’t really expecting Tommy to improve, of course. He just wanted to vacation in Corfu, wanted a place to stash him.”