Every Last Fear(10)

The screen jumped to an image of Danny from the documentary. Matt reached for the remote and turned off the set.

He and Ganesh sat quietly for a long while, Matt lost in his head, Ganesh stoned, chomping on more salt-and-vinegar potato chips, not cluttering up the conversation with platitudes. This was one of the things Matt liked most about Ganesh. He never littered conversations. When the documentary had come out during Matt’s freshman year, Ganesh kept him sane during the chaos. “Don’t stress, bro,” he’d said. “Let’s make lemonade out of it, and use the show to get some girls.” It hadn’t been the worst advice.

Now Ganesh said, “There’s a party in Brooklyn I was gonna hit up if you wanna come?”

“I think I’ll just hang out. You mind if I stay here tonight?”

“Of course, man, as long as you need. It’ll be like the old days,” Ganesh said, as if their freshman year had been a lifetime ago. In many ways, it was.

“I can skip the party,” Ganesh said. “If you want some company, I can—”

“No, you should go. It’s been a long day. I’m just gonna get some sleep.”

“Cool, cool, cool,” Ganesh said. He disappeared into the bedroom and came out wearing a hoodie and smelling of Axe body spray.

“Your ex keeps texting me looking for you. So is everybody else. You want me to—”

“Hold off telling them where I am. I wanna be alone for a bit. I’ll reach out to everyone in the morning.”

Ganesh nodded. “You sure you don’t wanna come? Take your mind off things?”

Matt shook his head. This wasn’t one where he could just make lemonade out of it. “You go, have fun.”

Ganesh stuffed his hoodie pocket with what was left of the bag of weed on the coffee table and headed out.

Finally alone, Matt balled up on Ganesh’s sofa, and he wept.





CHAPTER 7


SARAH KELLER

Agent Keller slid the key into the door of the small ranch-style house, moths circling the porch light above her. Readington, New Jersey, wasn’t a fancy neighborhood, which was just as well. That would’ve been cost prohibitive, given her FBI salary. But it was safe, filled with working-class families and young couples in starter homes.

In the entryway, she stopped at the sound coming from the kitchen. She dropped her keys softly in the bowl on the front table and crept down the hall, walking carefully, avoiding the creaky patch of wood floor.

Outside the kitchen, the noise was louder. A shaking sound like maracas.

And giggling.

Staying quiet, Keller peeked inside.

At the stove was Bob, making one of those old-fashioned popcorns, the kind you shake on the stovetop, creating a dome of foil. Two feet away the twins watched him in action. Michael wore dinosaur pj’s and Heather the cotton nightgown with Belle on it.

Bob grasped the thin metal handle, rattling the foil pan quickly, and the two wiggled their bodies at the same speed as the jostling. He stopped suddenly, and the twins froze in place—Michael’s hands in the air like a scarecrow, Heather trying to hold in her laugh. Bob then made wide figure eights with the pan as the grease sizzled, and the kids made circular movements with their hips, spinning invisible Hula-Hoops.

Keller felt warmth run through her. Bob was bald, and not in the slick stylish way of the young agents at the Bureau. He had an old-school doughnut of thick black hair. His stomach hugged his frayed concert T-shirt. But he evoked the awe of a movie star in the eyes of their children. And to Keller.

Some girls wanted to marry their fathers. It was the reason why so many couples were unhappy, Keller surmised: women seeking idealized versions of the first man in their lives. But Keller had no illusions about her dad. Whereas her father was a hard-charging lawyer who spent too much time worrying about appearances, Bob was a stay-at-home dad who—well, look at him. Whereas her father thought showing emotion was for the weak, Bob wore his heart on his sleeve, crying during movies and at the kids’ school performances. Whereas her father had engaged in an affair with his secretary in the oldest of clichés, Bob was as loyal as a Labrador. Most of all, he was kind.

“Mommy!” the twins said in unison when they finally saw her spying in the doorway.

Keller knelt down and accepted the squeeze and she felt that sensation she loved.

Bob moved the popcorn pan to an unlit burner, and came over and gave her a kiss.

“We’re going to watch Frozen!” Heather said.

“Again,” Keller said, eyeing her husband. “But isn’t it past bedtime?”

“Pleasssse, Mom, please,” Michael said.

“Daddy said we could,” Heather chimed in.

“Give Mommy a minute to relax,” Bob said. “She’s had a long day.” He looked at Keller. “Can I make you something to eat?”

“I picked up a sandwich,” Keller said.

“How about some wine?” he said as he cut into the tinfoil dome and poured popcorn into a plastic bowl.

“That I could do.”

He looked at the twins. “You two go get the movie started,” he said. “We’ll be right there.”

Michael took the bowl of popcorn and padded off to the living room, his sister at his heels.

“Small bites!” Bob yelled after them. “Popcorn’s a choking food.”