Live to Tell (Live to Tell #1)(39)

She’s referring to last night, when he showed up, unannounced, at the Cottingtons’ big, gray-shingled beach house. Still wearing his black tuxedo, carrying a hastily packed overnight bag, he arrived close to midnight. The girls were asleep, but Marin and Heather Cottington were sitting on the deck polishing off a bottle of pinot grigio. Garvey suspected it wasn’t their first when Marin swayed to her feet and threw her arms around him.

“What are you doing here?” she kept asking.

Providing myself with an alibi.

Imagine if he had told her the truth. All of it, right then and there.

He would never do it, of course…but he can’t stop thinking about how Marin would react if she knew. A part of him wonders if she might not just understand what happened all those years ago, and why he would go to such great lengths to see that it stays buried.

She is, after all, his wife…

And the mother of his children.

Ah—the great irony in that. Marin’s maternal role is the one reason she might be able to forgive him—and the one reason she might not.

That’s why he’s never told her. He never will.

And should anything not have gone as planned yesterday—should there be any kind of mess, despite his instructions—he’ll be in the clear.

Such a shame that anyone had to die.

But really, just look at all the lives that will be saved in the grand scheme of things. Yes, when Garvey takes office, health care will be at the top of his agenda. That will more than compensate for this weekend’s unfortunate casualties.

I just have to focus on the greater good.

I have to do whatever it takes to make this go away.

“I just wish you could stay.” Marin is still holding on to his hand.

“So do I.”

The morning flew by—breakfast, church, and now this sun-soaked respite before he hits the road.

He looks at his watch, then glances up at the Cotting-tons’ house above the dunes. Heather’s up there preparing a lunch he’s told her repeatedly he can’t stay to eat. He has to get back to Manhattan for a late afternoon rally, a photo op, and a dinner.

“Ten minutes,” he tells Marin, “and then I’ve got to go.”

“Are you sure you can’t wait until Annie gets back?” Their younger daughter went off with Chelsea Cottington to visit a friend down the beach.

Garvey shakes his head. “I have to be back for the—”

“Excuse me,” a voice cuts in, and a shadow falls over Garvey’s outstretched legs.

He looks up to see a woman standing there. She’s wearing a gauzy white cover-up that whips around her in the sea breeze, and a large sun hat she’s holding to her head with a tanned hand. Her face is almost completely concealed by a pair of movie star sunglasses.

“You’re Garvey Quinn, aren’t you?”

With an inward sigh and a campaign smile, he tells her, “Yes, I am.”

“I knew it!” She gestures at a pair of chairs a few yards away, where her companion, clad in boardshorts, sits watching them. “I told my boyfriend that was you, but he didn’t think so.”

“Well, if you made a bet, you won.”

She laughs delightedly—then goes on to tell him, in excruciating detail, about the proposed housing development that will infringe upon her wooded backyard in Nassau County. Garvey listens dutifully and gives her all the appropriate feedback, ever conscious of the ticking clock, Marin’s impatience, and his baby girl out in the Atlantic trying to catch a wave.

At last, the woman makes her way back to her boyfriend.

Marin sighs. “It never ends.”

“You know that it—”

“I know, I know. It goes with the territory. Sometimes it’s exhausting.”

“Sometimes?”

She squeezes his hand. “I just wonder if it’s worth it.”

“It will be.” He looks at his watch. “I have to go.”

“I know you do.”

He can’t see her eyes behind the sunglasses, but her mouth is taut.

“I’ll see you and the girls back in the city tomorrow. Don’t forget, we have that dinner at—”

“I won’t forget, Garvey.”

“Tell the girls—”

“I will.”

He stands and checks to see if Caroline is anywhere near shore so that he can wave her over for a hug.

No.

Casting a gaze out at the water, he doesn’t see her there, either.

For a moment, his heart stands still.

Then her head pops up amid the breakers.

Garvey watches her for a few more seconds, until he’s satisfied that she’s okay. Then he reluctantly turns his back, forces himself to walk away.

Over the years, he’s found comfort in the familiar Bible verse he learned years ago, in Sunday school: “Fathers shall not be put to death for their children, nor children put to death for their fathers; each is to die for his own sin.”

Now that his past is closing in, Garvey can’t help but wonder…

What about a child who would not be alive at all, but for her father’s sins?



Shopping with the girls, Lauren almost managed to put Nick’s absence out of her head.

Almost.

Every so often, she stepped away from the girls to surreptitiously check her cell phone, just to make sure she hadn’t somehow missed a return call from him. She hadn’t.