“A good-looking, well-maintained man, he dropped the leather and canvas overnighter that had been over his shoulder, more carefully deposited a computer case next to it, and stood in a casual pose. He was dressed in white hunter–foreign correspondent clichés: cottony beige garments that would be perfect for a café in Zimbabwe. Toronto real estate must be wild. On second impression, he lost some of his slick preposterousness. He halted uncertainly before he entered the living room. Perhaps that w...as nothing more than travel fatigue—if The Father of Jake permitted himself such a mundane malaise. So on third impression, my prejudices were back in place. Betsy Spiers held her hands up like shields against her ex-husband. “What do you want with us?” she said, her voice hoarse. “Why are you here?” “I said I was coming,” he said. “Didn’t you tell her, Jake?” His son lowered his eyes and shrugged. A graceful way of assuming blame instead of reminding Loren Ulrich that he’d made similar promises many times.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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