She can’t decipher his expression. All he says is, “Go on.” “Last year we separated and I moved out here. I thought I’d get settled and then go back and collect Wendy. As soon as I’d established California residency I filed for divorce here. But then I found out he’d filed at the same time—back in New York.” “And?” Now more lies: “There’ve been custody hearings in both states. California says I get the child. New York says he gets custody.” “He’s got possession of the kid?” “For the moment.” He pokes the steaks with a long fork. Fat dripping on the coals has started a fire and he sprays it with water from a hand-pump bottle that used to contain window cleanser. Out here he’s startlingly different from what’s he like at the airport or in the plane. His domesticity seems wildly out of place. She says, “It’s not altogether selfishness on my part. He’s not a fit father. She can’t stay with him. She just can’t.” “Well—you’re talking about kidnapping now.”