*
The last comment stung now, just as it did then. Was that what his life had been all these years since Japan, just cover? When he thought about it, he’d really made two oaths that night in Misawa. The first the vow of silence with Kenny and Juan (which he’d broken by going to his father); the second, an oath to God, ironic since back then he hadn’t been quite sure that he believed. The Almighty hadn’t cured his mom’s cancer, after all. But sobbing alone in his room, he’d vowed to never break the law again. To be a better person. To make something of himself. He’d left Japan soon after and his new school gave him the opportunity to reinvent himself. He was on a mission to succeed. By the time his father had retired from the military, Sean had attended five high schools in four years, but gotten straight As. That made for a helluva college essay. Dartmouth offered, he accepted, and once he was in the Ivy League system everything came easy: Harvard Law, a D.C. Circuit clerkship, on to the Supremes, then a coveted spot in the solicitor general’s office. It didn’t take a psych workup to connect why he had become a lawyer, why he dedicated himself to upholding the law and had become an appellate specialist whose job it was to fix mistakes made in the past by the lower courts.
Ryan’s voice reeled him back in. “What’d you guys talk about?”
“What’s that?” asked Sean, not understanding.
“You and Abby. What’d you used to talk about when you’d sneak out all those times?”
“She often talked about you, Ryan,” Sean said. “And how proud she was of you.”
Ryan picked up a shell and studied it. “She did?” There was a skeptical lilt to his voice.
“Oh, she admired you, Ryan. How you’re so naturally smart, how you have no fear of public speaking, and how musically talented you are. She struggled with all those things, you know.”
“I don’t know why she’d admire me. She was the one who was the best at everything. Like you said on the news.”
Sean again regretted speaking to the press. “She did admire you. I’m not just saying that.”
Ryan’s eyes glistened. Sean realized that as hard as he and Emily had tried not to make Ryan feel inferior to his overachieving sister, they’d failed. Parents don’t like to admit it, but when a child excels it sends a message to the world: you were good parents. The truth was, Abby was born to achieve and Ryan—sweet, empathetic Ryan—was born to stumble before he’d find himself.
Ryan rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “The last time we spoke she was mad at me.”
Sean hugged his son. His bare shoulder grew wet from Ryan’s tears. Sean was choking back a sob himself. “Brothers and sisters fight. Abby adored you. And she wouldn’t want you worried about some silly fight you had.”
“But she was really mad at me, Dad,” Ryan sobbed.
Sean felt a hand on his back and he turned. Emily. She gripped Jack’s hand with her left hand. In her right, a sack that read BIG BROWN BAG. The Bloomingdale’s bag. Abby’s ashes.
Ten minutes later, with the beautiful red, orange, and purple sky and the sound of waves crashing, they watched as the pillow-shaped urn slowly disappeared into the ocean where it would break down and his little girl’s ashes would become a part of this place she loved. Sean wanted to dive in the water and let the riptides take him away. But looking at Emily and the boys, he knew that, for them, he needed to be strong. Cliché as it was, he believed Abby would have wanted it that way.
On the slow walk back to the hotel, Emily reached for his hand. And he knew then that, if for only the moment, Emily was thinking the same thing.
CHAPTER 20
Sean idled the SUV curbside in front of the Starbucks on Rehoboth’s main street. He could see Emily through the coffee shop’s window ordering their drinks for the drive home. He glanced in the rearview at Ryan and Jack, who were bickering in the backseat.
“Stop breathing on me,” Ryan said to his little brother. “You didn’t brush your teeth and your breath smells like butt.”
“Oh yeah,” Jack countered, “well, your breath smells like dummy.”
Ryan: “That doesn’t even make sense, you’re such a—”
“Boys, enough,” Sean said. They were acting like Before. Just an hour ago they were in the midst of saying good-bye to Abby, one of the saddest events of Sean’s life, yet here they were back to being brothers. It gave Sean hope. He eyed his phone sitting in the console. He could no longer avoid it. He powered on the device, which buzzed and quivered as e-mails scrolled onto the screen. Then the chirp of an incoming call.
He scanned the caller ID: J. TWEED. Jonathan. He took a deep breath and answered, prepared for the interrogation about why he had skipped his own daughter’s vigil. Before he uttered a word, Tweed said, “Sean, thank God you picked up. I’ve been trying you since last night.”