“He’s my father,” I say. His face goes pale, much paler than it already is. “Howard is your dad?” “That’s not his name. My dad’s name is William. William Radkey.” He doesn’t seem to hear me. He’s staring at the painting, his expression pained as if he’s just been poisoned. “I need to tell Anthony. Wait here.” He walks to the door, but before going through he places his hand on the doorjamb. Without turning, he says, “Patch, I’m sorry.” “For what?” He leaves without answering.
