Free Live Wire by Harlan Coben Page B

white golf shirt, even though he never played the game. His gray chest hair jutted through the V. He looked off, knowing that Myron was not a huge fan of intense eye contact.
    Myron decided to dive right in. “Have you heard from Brad recently?”
    If his father was surprised to hear Myron say that name—the first time Myron had done so in front of his father in fifteen-plus years—he did not show it. He took a sip of his iced tea and pretended to think about it. “We got an e-mail, oh, maybe a month ago.”
    “Where was he?”
    “In Peru.”
    “And what about Kitty?”
    “What about her?”
    “Was she with him?”
    “I assume so.” Now his father turned and faced him. “Why?”
    “I think I saw Kitty last night in New York City.”
    His father sat back. “I guess it’s possible.”
    “Wouldn’t they have contacted you if they were in the area?”
    “Maybe. I could e-mail him and ask.”
    “Could you?”
    “Sure. Do you want to tell me what this is about?”
    He kept it vague. He’d been looking for Lex Ryder when he saw Kitty. His father nodded as Myron spoke. When he finished, Dad said, “I don’t hear from them much. Sometimes months go by. But he’s okay. Your brother, I mean. I think he has been happy.”
    “Has been?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “You said ‘has been happy.’ Why didn’t you just say he’s happy?”
    “His last few e-mails,” Dad said. “They’ve been, I don’t know, different. Stiffer maybe. More newsy. But then again, I’m not very close to him. Don’t get me wrong. I love him. I love him as much as I do you. But we aren’t particularly close.”
    His dad took another sip of iced tea.
    “You were,” Myron said.
    “No, not really. Of course, when he was young, we were all a bigger part of his life.”
    “So what changed that?”
    Dad smiled. “You blame Kitty.”
    Myron said nothing.
    “Do you think you and Terese will have children?” Dad asked.
    The subject change threw him. Myron wasn’t sure exactly how to reply. “It’s a delicate question,” he said slowly. Terese couldn’t have any more children. He had not told his parents about this yet because, until he got her to the right doctors, he still couldn’t accept it himself. Either way, this was not the time to raise the issue. “We’re on the old side, but who knows.”
    “Well, either way, let me tell you something about parenting, something none of those self-help books or parenting magazines will tell you.” Dad turned and leaned in closer. “We parents grossly overestimate our importance.”
    “You’re being modest.”
    “No, I’m not. I know you think that your mother and I are the most amazing parents. I’m glad. I really am. Maybe for you, we were, though you’ve blocked out a lot of the bad.”
    “Like what?”
    “I’m not going to rehash my mistakes right now. That’s not the point anyway. We were good parents, I guess. Most are. Most are trying their best and if they make mistakes, it’s from trying too hard. But the truth is, we parents are at the most, say, auto mechanics. We can tune up the car and make sure it has the proper fluids. We can keep it running, check the oil, make sure it is road ready. But the car is still the car. When the car comes in, it’s already a Jaguar or Toyota or Prius. You can’t turn a Toyota into a Jaguar.”
    Myron made a face. “A Toyota into a Jaguar?”
    “You know what I mean. I know the analogy isn’t the best and now that I think about it, it doesn’t really hold because it sounds like a judgment, like the Jaguar is better than the Toyota or something. It is not. It’s just different with different needs. Some kids come out shy, some are outgoing, some are bookish, some are jocks, whatever. The way we raise you doesn’t really have much to do with it. Sure we can instill values and all that, but we usually mess up when we try to change what is already there.”
    “When you try,” Myron added, “to turn the Toyota into the