“Looks like a shoe sale at Nordstrom’s,” Jake said, and Pam laughed, which pleased him no end. They were back in therapy, putting their marriage back together, sometimes with Ryan, too. Pam had been depressed for months, but had begun to come around after the headlines died down. The local law firms didn’t make her a job offer, so she was working as a contract lawyer, writing briefs for the big, white-shoe firms in Philly. They wouldn’t put her name on the papers, but they were happy to have her brainpower. They’d considered moving away from Concord Chase, but decided against it, unanimously. It wouldn’t work in the age of Facebook, and they were through with family secrets.
Ryan had gotten through a predictably difficult junior year, with the school and the team in turmoil. The Chasers lost to Lower Merion in the championship, and the basketball recruiters never called Ryan again, though he’d weathered the social storm at school and kept his grades up. The assistant-coaching gig had fulfilled his community service obligation, but he’d already finished the required hours. He’d found a calling in coaching and landed a summer job assistant-coaching in the playground league, for the Concord Chase Rec Department. He was even talking about applying to colleges closer to home. Pam was relieved he wouldn’t be leaving the nest completely, and Jake acted like he was happy on her behalf, but he was happy for himself. He loved spending time with Ryan, and it turned out that he didn’t have to compete with Call of Duty. On the contrary, he learned to play video games.
Jake watched Ryan calling to the kids on the sidelines, and his heart swelled with pride. He went to all the games, just to watch Ryan, and felt as if he was finally gaining ground with their son. Ryan, Pam, and he spent more time together than ever before, maybe because nobody else would talk to them. Turned out there was nothing like a public shunning to bring a family closer.
The cheering crowd leapt to its feet, and one of the girls on the opposing team blew past a Gardenia Guardian and actually scored a basket. Jake watched as the little Guardian burst into tears, ran off the court, and beelined to Ryan. Ryan bent down, gave her a big hug, then talked to her and sent her back into the game.
Pam let out a sympathetic moan. “Aw, that’s Talisa, the poor kid. She feels terrible.”
“Yes, but look at our son,” Jake said, with a quiet satisfaction. He fast-forwarded into the future, to the time when Ryan became a father to his own child. Jake could see how loving Ryan would be, and how kind. They had both wanted to meet with Kathleen’s parents to apologize, but the Lindstroms had declined the meeting, and it had been Ryan’s idea to plant a weeping willow in their backyard, as their private memorial to Kathleen. Suddenly Jake’s heart lifted, easing a burden that he hadn’t realized he was carrying until this very moment. He had made so many mistakes as a father, but in the end, he’d done one thing right. He’d been a better father than his own, and Ryan would be the best father of all.
“Jake.” Pam leaned over, excited. “Look!”
“I’m watching, I’m watching.” Jake came out of his reverie.
“Not at the game, at the stands.” Pam pointed across the court. “Look over there. Do you see what I see? Third row up, in the pink ball cap, with the white tank top. Isn’t that Sabrina?”
“Yes.” Jake nodded, matter-of-factly.
“What’s she doing here? Is something going on between her and Ryan?”
“Well, he was worried she friend-zoned him, but he’s taking her out tonight. It’s their first date but she texts him constantly from Friends Central camp, where she’s a counselor-in-training. She writes funny texts and he likes that—”
“Wait. How do you know all this?” Pam looked at him, wide-eyed.
“I’m baller, honey. I’m baller G.”
“What?” Pam burst into laughter, and Jake wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead and catching a scent of her gardenia perfume. His wife was the most wonderful woman he had ever known, and he felt so grateful to be her Husband Material.
Just my luck.
Acknowledgments
I usually love to write my acknowledgments, but not this time, because we at St. Martin’s Press have just lost our beloved publisher and friend Matthew Shear to cancer. This novel is dedicated to him, because I loved him and owe him so much, in so many ways. Permit me to tell you about him, because he was someone who loved books.
Matthew was simply a warm and wonderful man, with a big heart and an even bigger grin. He was a hugger. If you sat next to him at dinner, you knew you were going to have the best time of anyone at the table. He was honest and real and fun. He had great judgment. He loved life. He was witty, but no snob. He was the smartest guy in the room, but not a show-off. He could talk about books all day long, but he talked more about his wife of thirty-some years, Sabrina, and his two daughters, Hayley and Lindsey. As much as he loved to talk, he was a great listener. He listened intently when you spoke, and anyone who knew him can picture his direct, dark-eyed gaze while he listened as easily as they can recall the distinctive sound of his laugh, which was loud and joyful. It wasn’t a musical laugh. Musical is overrated, as far as laughs go.
Matthew was also a brilliant publisher, and if you don’t know what a publisher does, the answer is: everything. In my case, when I first came to St. Martin’s Press, Matthew took me under his wing and told me that the house would take great care of me, and it has. He read each of my manuscripts and called or emailed to tell me what he liked in each one. He looked at my book covers with new eyes and changed them so they would reach a wider audience. He weighed in on any newspaper ad for my books, tweaking the taglines, and he moved my publication dates around to get my books in stores when it was best. He took me out of mass market paperback, where I had been published for twenty-odd years, and put me into trade paperback, which got a book of mine on the bestseller list for sixteen weeks, a sales record for me. The move was a radical change for a suspense author at the time, but now has become common. Most of all, he treated my daughter Francesca and me with respect and affection, and considered our opinions—as if we were his partners, not merely his authors. He helped develop the careers of so many authors like me, all because he loved our books and us.
Matthew Shear was larger-than-life, and so he will survive death. Those of us who knew him will never forget him. And we will always love him. In time, we will go on, because he’d want us to, and in so doing, we honor him. So I will thank that great group of wonderful people at St. Martin’s, all of whom he loved as his office family, most especially, my incredible editor and dear friend, Jennifer Enderlin, as well as our truly fearless leader, John Sargent, the divine Sally Richardson, and the great crew of Matt Baldacci, Jeanne-Marie Hudson, Brian Heller, Steve Kleckner, Steve Cohen, Jeff Dodes, Jeff Capshew, Nancy Trypuc, Kim Ludlam, John Murphy, John Karle, Rob Grom, Paul Hochman, Stephanie Davis, Caitlin Dareff, and all the wonderful sales reps. Thanks to adorable cover designer, Michael Storrings. Thanks to Mary Beth Roche, Laura Wilson, Esther Bochner, Brant Janeway, and all the great people in audiobooks. I love and appreciate all of you.
Now onto the experts and kind souls who helped me with Keep Quiet. Any and all mistakes herein are mine. I’m a former lawyer, but criminal law wasn’t my field, and my first thanks go to a supersmart and dedicated public servant, Nicholas Casenta, Esq., Chief Deputy District Attorney of the Chester County District Attorney’s Office. Nick has helped me with every book so far, including this one, and I throw hard questions at Nick, at all hours of the day and night, via panicky email. His answers are always spot-on, superbly well-reasoned, and incredibly helpful, and I couldn’t be more grateful to him. Thank you so very much, Nick!