Besides, Karen loved Joe Graham. That little leprechaun face was just so damn cute, and the artificial arm made him so vulnerable. She liked the way he respected himself and the people around him. And she knew the story of how Graham had raised Neal from an abandoned child into a pretty decent human being. Karen treated Graham like a beloved father-in-law, even though he wasn’t Neal’s real father and Neal wasn’t her husband.

In 1980s America, Karen thought, families don’t always come in square boxes.

“So what is this? Your Serpico look?” Graham asked.

He’d never seen Neal with long hair before, never mind the beard. And the worn denim shirt hanging over faded blue jeans? The kid needed a decade check.

“Sort of a disguise,” Neal mumbled.

He was embarrassed. At first, the beard and hair were just that, a gesture toward disguising his identity, but then he came to like the look. Not even the look so much, he thought, but the feel: more laid-back, loosely wrapped, a nice change after he’d spent the first 27 years on his toes and wrapped tighter than the insides of a baseball.

“I like it,” Karen said. She ran her fingers through his hair where it met his collar. “But maybe I should give it a trim tonight. It’s looking a little shaggy.”

This is nice, Graham thought. This is nice for the kid; he finally has somebody. Every other time I’ve come to get him, I’ve found him buried in a stack of books, index cards, and bad memories. Kid used to eat self-pity like it was ice cream. This time, he’s with a stand-up woman who loves him so much, she doesn’t take any of his crap. And he can’t feel too sorry for himself; he opens his eyes in the morning and she’s there.

“So do you want work?” Graham asked.

“Dad, I’ve been thinking…”

“When did that start?” Graham asked. He felt it was his duty to insult Neal.