The plane was late, so Jack's dad was in a bad mood. He pretended he wasn't. He pretended, like he always did, that he was in control. But he was in a bad mood. Jack could tell and so could his mom.

They stared at the arrivals screen, crammed with information including a flashing green DELAYED beside the British Airways flight from London. 'They don't give you any information,' his dad said. 'Zip. They have no concept of customer service.'

'Not long now, Howard.'

His mom had a jar of phrases she reached into whenever his dad got like this. 'Just relax.' 'Keep your voice down.' 'Sure, what else would we be doing?' All delivered in the soft Irish accent she had never lost.

'We don't know how long, Clare. That's my point.'

Howard stalked off, looking goofy in his Mariners baseball cap and powder-blue polo shirt and those chino shorts that were basically the same as what he wore to work every day but without the pants legs.

Clare sighed. 'He's coming such a long way. We can wait for a few minutes.'

Jack wondered what Finn would be like. He'd met his cousin once, six years ago, when they were both eight. Jack and his mom had flown to Dublin when his aunt got married. He remembered the flight perfectly – the way the seat pushed against his back when they took off, the cotton puffs of cloud beneath them as they flew, the bumpy landing that scared him so much he had grabbed his mother's arm. He also remembered how rainy Dublin had been – even wetter than Seattle. But he couldn't remember anything about Finn.

Most of all Jack wondered about Finn's arm. What would that look like?

The international terminal at Sea-Tac Airport was bright and airy, with huge viewing windows and a full-scale replica of a P-51 Mustang fighter plane hanging from the ceiling. A P-51 was the first model Jack had ever assembled, an all-balsa-wood 1-32 scale with USAF decals that his dad gave him on his tenth birthday. He had painted it silver and blue and installed it on the top shelf of the glass display case in his bedroom. It was still his favourite, and the replica was the main reason he liked coming to the airport. Though he was curious about Finn, too.

His dad returned and stared at the screen, arms folded across his chest. He spoke to Jack's mom without looking at her. 'When was the last time you saw him?'

'When I was home for Oonagh's wedding.'

His mom had been living in Seattle for twenty years, but she still called Ireland 'home'.

'What was he like?'

She glanced at Jack. 'A nice boy. Intelligent. Happy.'

'Well, he ain't happy now.' He spoke under his breath but loud enough for Jack to hear. Usually, his parents didn't talk like this in front of him, but when his dad was annoyed he'd say anything. Anything except swear words.

'Will you recognise him?'

'I don't know.'

But when Finn walked through the arrivals gate, pale and blinking and looking like he'd just got out of bed, they knew him at once. He was listening to his iPod and wearing the same clothes as in the photograph his mother, Orla, had sent them: knit stocking cap, black jeans and two black T-shirts – short-sleeve on top, with a green Xbox 360 logo on the front, and long-sleeve underneath, so that his arms, Jack was disappointed to see, were covered. He carried a scuffed rucksack and a plastic duty-free bag.

Jack's mom hugged Finn as he removed the headphones. 'You're very welcome,' she said.

He winced. His face was thin, and he had a lot of acne. He looked like one of the skateboarders who spent all day doing kickflips on the long sidewalk in front of the public library.

'Hey Finn, I'm Howard.' Jack's dad thrust out his hand and Finn shook it lightly. 'You remember your cousin Jack?'

The boys nodded at each other, awkward and embarrassed. And, as Jack could have predicted, it was about to get worse. His dad, who worked for Microsoft, was staring at the Xbox logo on Finn's shirt.

'360, huh?' He stuck a meaty thumb in the air and grinned like a game-show host. 'Live your moment.'

Jack stared at the fighter plane.

* * *

'I didn't ask to come here.'

Finn said this to Jack as soon as they were alone in the bedroom. He sat on the upper bunk, his legs dangling over the side. His jeans had hiked up his legs, revealing shins as white as a fish's belly. The air conditioning was off and the house was warm, but he'd kept his hat on and his sleeves down.

'I didn't say you did.'

'It's not my fault my mum hasn't a clue.'

It was bad enough that Jack's mom had told him he had to share his bedroom with Finn, even though there were two empty guest rooms in the house, but she also made him give up his bed. He had slept in the top bunk since he was nine. The only reason he had bunk beds in the first place was for sleepovers, and he hadn't had one of those in two years.

'Where'd you get all those?' Finn asked, pointing at the display case full of models.

'I made them.'

'You made them?'

'Assembled them. Painted them. Put the decals on.'

'That meant to be your hobby?'

'I guess.'

Jack suddenly saw his room through Finn's eyes: not just the models but the Seahawks and Mariners pennants, the math and spelling trophies, the honour roll certificates that his mom had framed and hung on the wall, the posters detailing the zones of the solar system and the instruments of the orchestra. It was a nerd's room, accomplished and instructive, everything in its place.

'D'you have an Xbox?' Finn said.

'No.'

'PlayStation? Nintendo?'

'My parents think gaming is a waste of time.'

Finn snorted and nodded at the models. 'And those aren't?'

There were dark circles under his eyes. Beneath the corners of his jaw were clusters of acne that looked raw and sore.

'You have a computer at least?'

'I use the one in the kitchen,' Jack said.

'Your oul' fella not trust you?'

'My what?'

'Howard. Your dad.'

'I get a laptop when I start high school.'

'When's that?'

'In September.'

Finn lifted his legs onto the bed and flopped back so that his face was hidden. He was quiet for so long that Jack thought he'd fallen asleep. Then he said, 'What games you got on that desktop out there?'

'Like I said. My parents ...'

Another silence. 'Right,' Finn said at last. 'First thing we do is get that sorted.'

After dinner, Jack's dad went to work in his study and his mom took the two boys to Cold Stone Creamery for dessert. On the way she asked a stream of questions about Finn's mother, his two younger sisters, how he liked some place called Balbriggan, how the Dublin Gaelic football team was doing. He answered with as few words as possible, staring out the car window and plucking at the sleeves of his T-shirt and the seams of his jeans. Soon there was total silence. Finn took his iPod from his pocket and inserted the earbuds. As Jack's mom drove, her eyes flicked back and forth from the road to the rear-view mirror, angled so that she could see Finn in the back seat.

Halfway into his ice-cream, Finn said he wasn't feeling well, so they drove back to the house. It was jetlag, Jack's mom said. Finn's body clock was still on Irish time and it would be a few days before he adjusted. Remember when we went to Ireland, she said to Jack, how sick you got on the way from the airport? Her voice had that bright, false tone it got when she...