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what might be out there. He refused to let himself get away with not looking at the emptiness. But he also refused to linger there.
    Yes, yes, what he sought was there—possibility. A big word with a big reach, it might include anything. Possibility was just that, and that was plenty.
    He got out his pen, pulled paper from Gianni’s printer, and began. The first part was basic. He needed a new name. The surname was clear—he would take Grandfather Angus’s, Stuart, a clan as fine as Macgregor. Robbie had the first name, too, slapping him in the face, and it was a chuckle. The nickname of the infamous Rob Roy Macgregor had been Red. Hi, Red Stuart.
    Suddenly he thought of what he had to do, right off, as Red Stuart. He went to the bathroom, got out his electric razor, and gave himself a buzz cut. Looked at himself. Strange. Hadn’t looked like this since the army. He’d have to grow a beard to keep from looking like a suit.
    He looked at the long, shaggy, frizzy locks in the wastebasket. Good-bye, Rob Macgregor.
    He ran his hands all over his head. Felt strange.
    He slipped off the plastic attachment and shaved his face clean.
    Wow, the mirror said. Odd, very odd.
    Who are you, Red Stuart?
    He sat back down as the new guy and began to list the hundred details that guy needed taken care of.
    Georgia? Nora? The band? He would do nothing. They didn’t exist. They weren’t real. Same for the divorce, the house, the settlement, everything.
    Money? Tricky. A new life wouldn’t be free. Nora handled all his accounts, so he couldn’t filch any funds without her knowing. If he took his half, or if he even took a couple of million, even a few hundred thousand, she would know, and he couldn’t … Do what? He hadn’t worked it out.
    He pondered long and fell asleep without a solution.
    And he woke up with one. Grandfather Angus’s money. Grandpa had willed Robbie the equity in his duplex, less than a hundred grand. Robbie had said nothing about it to Georgia or Nora, having been burned in one divorce already. He’d let Gianni put the money in some Silicon Valley stocks for him, and it had more than doubled over the years. Just enough for a fresh start.
    Robbie was missing one thing. A gesture. He needed a gesture to Georgia, to the band, mostly to himself.
    Back to walking the beach. He was squatting in a tide pool poking an anemone and watching it spout when the idea came to him.
    He spent a day thinking it through. This gesture was right. The next morning he made a phone call. Gianni sounded relieved to hear from him, and promised to be at the cabin by seven that evening, this time with cartons of Indian food. Where he was heading, Robbie didn’t expect to find much of that.

 
    5
    THE LIGHTBULB BLOWS
    â€œFirst, here’s my new cell phone number.” Robbie laid a small piece of paper next to Gianni’s plate. “You’re the only person in the world who has it. Keep it that way.”
    â€œSure.” Gianni grinned. He tucked the paper into his wallet and looked back at Red’s face. “I’ll never get used to seeing you like that.”
    â€œLet’s not live in the past.”
    â€œWhatever you say, Rob.”
    â€œAnother big favor,” he said.
    â€œNo problem. Don’t you love this curry?”
    â€œYou’ve always said that I should come in on one of your big enterprises. That I’m too conservative, yada yada. Now I’m on board. Sell my stocks and give me seventy-five grand. Cash. Put the rest into something good.”
    â€œThis doesn’t sound like you.”
    â€œJust do it, please.”
    â€œYou sure?”
    Robbie set his chin on his hand, looked at Gianni, and said, “As sure as I can be about anything.”
    Gianni perked up. “Actually, this is perfect timing. I’d like one more person for a joint venture, and it’d be good to have you. Come into the office and I’ll