O says, “It turns out that Patterson isn’t my father.”
“Sorry.”
“Oh, it gets better.” She takes a pull on the joint, holds in the smoke, and exhales with, “My real father was a guy called-you’re going to love this-‘Doc Halliday,’ and-get ready for it-he killed himself while I was baking in the oven.”
“Jesus, O, that’s terri-”
Then he does the math.
His parents said that Halliday committed suicide in 1981, but O couldn’t have been born until “What’s your birthday?”
“August twenty-eighth, why?”
“What year?”
“1986. Ben-”
But he’s already punching the phone.