DAMIEN'S POV
Julian's son arrived on August third at four in the morning New York time.
Julian called me forty minutes later. His voice had a quality I'd never heard in it before, stripped of everything practiced and defended, just a man on the other side of something enormous.
"He's here," Julian said.
"How is Natasha?"
"Tired. Good. She's incredible." A pause that carried more than he'd ever said in a paragraph. "Damien. He's so small."
"They are."
"I didn't understand that. How small."
"What's his name?"
"Henry." Another pause. "Natasha chose it. I said yes immediately."
Henry Chen had died in 1997. Robert Chen's father, whose paintings were now in permanent collections in three Canadian institutions and whose catalogue sat on shelves in galleries and libraries across two coun
