Hold Tight by Harlan Coben

summer.
    Mike remembered now sitting in the coaster, waiting for that ride to start, heart pumping. He turned to Adam, who gave him a crooked smile and said, “Hold tight,” and then, right then, he flashed back more than a decade, when Adam was four and they were at this same park and there was a crush of people entering the stuntman show, a total crush, and Mike held his son’s hand and told him to “hold tight,” and he could feel the little hand dig into his but the crush got bigger and the little hand slipped from his and Mike felt that horrible panic, as if a wave hit them at the beach and it was washing his baby out with the tide. The separation lasted only a few seconds, ten at the most, but Mike would never forget the spike in his blood and the terror of those brief few moments.
    Mike stared for a solid minute. Then he picked up his phone and called Adam’s cell phone again.
    “Please call home, son. I’m worried about you. I’m on your side, always, no matter what. I love you. So call me, okay?”
    He hung up and waited.
    ADAM listened to the last message from his father and almost started to cry.
    He thought about calling him back. He thought about dialing his dad’s number and telling him to come get him and then they could go to that Rangers game with Uncle Mo and maybe Adam would tell them everything. He held his cell phone. His father’s number was speed-dial one. His finger hovered by the digit. All he had to do was press down.
    From behind him a voice said, “Adam?”
    He moved his finger away.
    “Let’s go.”

11
    BETSY Hill watched her husband, Ron, pull his Audi into the garage. He was still such a handsome man. His salt-and-pepper hair had gone pretty much to salt, but his blue eyes, so like his dead son’s, still shone and his face remained smooth. Unlike most of his colleagues he’d kept the gut off, worked out just enough, watched what he ate.
    The picture she’d printed off the MySpace page sat on the table in front of her. For the past hour she had sat here wondering what to do. The twins were with her sister. She didn’t want them home for this.
    She heard the door from the garage open and then Ron called out, “Bets?”
    “In the kitchen, honey.”
    Ron bounded into the room with a smile on his face. It had been a long time since she had seen him smile and as soon as she did, she slid the picture under a magazine and out of view. She wanted, even for a few minutes anyway, to protect that smile.
    “Hi,” he said.
    “Hi, how was work?”
    “Fine, good.” He still smiled. “I have a surprise.”
    “Oh?”
    Ron came over, bent down and kissed her cheek, tossed the brochure on the kitchen table. Betsy reached for it.
    “A one-week cruise,” he said. “Look at the itinerary, Bets. I bookmarked the page with a Post-it note.”
    She turned to the page and looked down. The cruise left Miami Beach and hit the Bahamas, St. Thomas and some private island owned by the ship.
    “Same itinerary,” Ron said. “Exact same itinerary as on our honeymoon. The ship is different, of course. That old vessel isn’t running anymore. This one is brand-new. I got the top deck too-a cabin with a balcony. I even got someone to watch Bobby and Kari.”
    “We can’t just leave the twins for a week.”
    “Sure we can.”
    “They’re still too vulnerable, Ron.”
    The smile started fading. “They’ll be fine.”
    He wants this gone, she thought. Not wrong, of course. Life goes on. This was his way of coping. He wanted it gone. And eventually, she knew, he will want her gone too. He might hang on for the twins, but all the good memories-that first kiss outside the library, the overnight at the shore, the spectacular sun-drenched honeymoon cruise, scraping that horrid wallpaper off at their starter home, that time at the farmers’ market when they started laughing so hard, tears ran down their faces-all of that was gone now.
    When Ron sees her, he sees his dead son.
    “Bets?”
    She nodded.