Gould archive at Wellesley?” Lucy said. “You’re kidding. That I never would have expected. The letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Jay Gould, together under one roof. Who knew?”
“It’s just the letters between Gould and one of his wives,” Danny said, and added hastily, “How was your day?”
“It was fine,” Lucy said distantly, but the way she furrowed her brow made Danny’s stomach do a little flip. She knew him too well.
• • •
With both his daughter and his girlfriend at home, there wasn’t much privacy. He waited until Abby had gone into her room and Lucy was in the shower, then he sat down at his desk in the living room, loaded a program the DEA agents had given him called Adium, and signed on to the [email protected] account.
He composed a text to [email protected]. Just three words: device in place. He stared at it for a few seconds.
A window opened: OTR FINGERPRINT VERIFIC ATION . The encryption “fingerprint” for the DEA agents. A box of gobbledygook popped up on his Gmail page. Fortunately, he didn’t have to know what the hell he was doing to make it work. He assumed it meant that his text messages to them were automatically encrypted, and theirs back. He clicked ACCEPT .
E NCRYPT ED CHAT INITIATED . In other words, the text had gone through successfully.
Then he remembered about the pictures. He e-mailed to himself the photos he’d taken of Galvin’s desk. Saved them to his computer’s desktop. Then sent them to [email protected].
And he was done.
The DEA boys would get the evidence they needed to arrest Tom Galvin. They’d arrest Celina’s husband, Jenna and Ryan and Brendan’s father.
He didn’t want to think about that, though. It came down to a very simple choice: Galvin’s family or his. That wasn’t exactly a difficult decision, was it?
Not that he cared about what might happen to Galvin. He hardly knew the guy. Even the man’s wife and kids—he didn’t know them, either. If Galvin were truly involved in criminal activity, he deserved to go to prison.
He signed off.
• • •
But he hated lying to the two women in his life.
He hadn’t lied to Abby since Sarah’s death. And then he’d had no choice. Sarah had insisted.
Sarah had wanted Abby to go to Camp Pocapawmet, on Cape Cod, that last summer, just as she’d gone every summer since she was eleven. And he’d gone along with it, but he’d said,
You don’t want her around for . . .
Tearfully, Sarah had shot back,
This is not the way I want her to remember her mommy. I don’t want her to remember me as a sick, dying woman. I want her to enjoy being a kid. A couple of weeks of just being a kid. Carefree and happy. Because when I go, everything will change for her.
But he didn’t want to lie to her.
Call it protection. Call it protecting her childhood. I don’t want a shadow to fall over that girl until it really has to
.
So he’d lied, of course. Mommy had an infection in her lungs. She had to spend a little while in the hospital, and then she’d get better.
Meanwhile, Sarah went through round after brutal round of chemotherapy. Anthracycline and taxane. The chemo had to come before surgery. But it was stage-four cancer. The cancer had spread to the lymph nodes. The prognosis was poor.
There wasn’t even time for surgery. It all happened too fast.
And when everything turned for the worse at the beginning of August, when it had become clear that Sarah had days left, not weeks or months, Danny had picked Abby up at camp and told her Mommy was sick.
Abby lay in the hospital bed next to her mother, her arms around her mother’s belly as Sarah slept, the machines wheezing and beeping, both of them crying. For two days.
Danny knew that Sarah waited to die until Abby had gone home for the night. Danny knew she couldn’t bear to depart this earth in the embrace of her child.
So Abby’d had four worry-free weeks at camp before the shadow fell over her
“It’s just the letters between Gould and one of his wives,” Danny said, and added hastily, “How was your day?”
“It was fine,” Lucy said distantly, but the way she furrowed her brow made Danny’s stomach do a little flip. She knew him too well.
• • •
With both his daughter and his girlfriend at home, there wasn’t much privacy. He waited until Abby had gone into her room and Lucy was in the shower, then he sat down at his desk in the living room, loaded a program the DEA agents had given him called Adium, and signed on to the [email protected] account.
He composed a text to [email protected]. Just three words: device in place. He stared at it for a few seconds.
A window opened: OTR FINGERPRINT VERIFIC ATION . The encryption “fingerprint” for the DEA agents. A box of gobbledygook popped up on his Gmail page. Fortunately, he didn’t have to know what the hell he was doing to make it work. He assumed it meant that his text messages to them were automatically encrypted, and theirs back. He clicked ACCEPT .
E NCRYPT ED CHAT INITIATED . In other words, the text had gone through successfully.
Then he remembered about the pictures. He e-mailed to himself the photos he’d taken of Galvin’s desk. Saved them to his computer’s desktop. Then sent them to [email protected].
And he was done.
The DEA boys would get the evidence they needed to arrest Tom Galvin. They’d arrest Celina’s husband, Jenna and Ryan and Brendan’s father.
He didn’t want to think about that, though. It came down to a very simple choice: Galvin’s family or his. That wasn’t exactly a difficult decision, was it?
Not that he cared about what might happen to Galvin. He hardly knew the guy. Even the man’s wife and kids—he didn’t know them, either. If Galvin were truly involved in criminal activity, he deserved to go to prison.
He signed off.
• • •
But he hated lying to the two women in his life.
He hadn’t lied to Abby since Sarah’s death. And then he’d had no choice. Sarah had insisted.
Sarah had wanted Abby to go to Camp Pocapawmet, on Cape Cod, that last summer, just as she’d gone every summer since she was eleven. And he’d gone along with it, but he’d said,
You don’t want her around for . . .
Tearfully, Sarah had shot back,
This is not the way I want her to remember her mommy. I don’t want her to remember me as a sick, dying woman. I want her to enjoy being a kid. A couple of weeks of just being a kid. Carefree and happy. Because when I go, everything will change for her.
But he didn’t want to lie to her.
Call it protection. Call it protecting her childhood. I don’t want a shadow to fall over that girl until it really has to
.
So he’d lied, of course. Mommy had an infection in her lungs. She had to spend a little while in the hospital, and then she’d get better.
Meanwhile, Sarah went through round after brutal round of chemotherapy. Anthracycline and taxane. The chemo had to come before surgery. But it was stage-four cancer. The cancer had spread to the lymph nodes. The prognosis was poor.
There wasn’t even time for surgery. It all happened too fast.
And when everything turned for the worse at the beginning of August, when it had become clear that Sarah had days left, not weeks or months, Danny had picked Abby up at camp and told her Mommy was sick.
Abby lay in the hospital bed next to her mother, her arms around her mother’s belly as Sarah slept, the machines wheezing and beeping, both of them crying. For two days.
Danny knew that Sarah waited to die until Abby had gone home for the night. Danny knew she couldn’t bear to depart this earth in the embrace of her child.
So Abby’d had four worry-free weeks at camp before the shadow fell over her
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