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“We kidnapped him, Win.”
“Kidnapped,” Win scoffed. “Don’t be so melodramatic. And could we stop with the ‘we’ please? ‘We’ didn’t do anything. I came up with the ruse of a fake coaching job offer. I flew him to Vegas in my plane. I am the one who put him on his ass on that tarmac.”
“And I’m just an innocent?”
“In this case? Yes. How is that hard to understand?”
Myron stared off across the street. “There was a time…” Myron stopped, starting again. “There was a time when I thought you went too far.”
Win waited.
“And I called you on it. I told you that you couldn’t do that again. Do you remember what you told me?”
Win still did not reply.
“You said: ‘You know what I do—and yet you always call me.’”
“Look at you, quoting me verbatim.”
“You were right though. I don’t get off the hook by blaming you.”
Win shook his head. “Such an idealist.”
“No, not anymore. I wish I were. But I get you better now.”
“And that’s a bad thing,” Win said.
Myron wasn’t sure whether Win meant that as a statement or a question.
“You try to shield me from the squishier morality moments,” Myron said. “But I’m right there with you. So yeah, maybe it wasn’t my idea, but that doesn’t mean I can wash my hands of what you did.”
“So,” Win said, “you figured that by calling Chaz, you might mitigate our, uh, squishiness, a bit.”
“Yes.”
Win thought about it. Then he shook his head. “Weirdo.”
There was a commotion by the front door now. Greg Downing stepped out with Sadie Fisher. Sadie, no surprise, wore a killer outfit—bright red blazer over black blouse, black pencil skirt. Greg wore the same jeans and flannel shirt he’d been wearing when he was arrested back at that A-frame house in Pine Bush. He blinked into the sun as though he’d just emerged from solitary and into bright sunlight. The move felt a tad performative, but Myron let it go. Greg gave a half smile and a half wave—he, too, knew how to work a press conference.
“Thank you all for coming,” Sadie Fisher said.
Win nudged Myron and gestured with his chin. Myron looked and saw Spark and Bo vanish into one of those large black vans Myron normally associated with party travel. Grace was by the door too. She turned and glared at Myron. Myron didn’t look away. Then Grace too slipped inside.
Sadie Fisher continued: “I said everything I needed to say at my press conference this morning from Las Vegas. I’m not here to grandstand, so I won’t repeat myself. Mr. Downing is grateful to be set free, but he worries about the other victims still incarcerated. He and I both hope for their speedy exoneration. We also hope that the Federal Bureau of Investigation will conduct an open and transparent investigation, so that the American people understand the threat and we can all help to bring the perpetrator to justice.” Sadie gave the crowd a tight smile. “My client asks that everyone please respect his privacy after this harrowing ordeal. Thank you for your time.”
The expected cacophony of questions erupted from the media. Sadie and Greg ignored it and hurried toward the same black van.
“Hmm,” Win said.
“What?”
“Jeremy didn’t make it.”
Emily Downing was watching her ex-husband’s release on television when she heard a strange buzzing.
You hear the hoary chestnut that there are moments when it seems your entire life passes in front of your eyes. The imagery here was not violent enough for what Emily was about to experience. The past few days have felt like her entire past clenched into a massive fist that won’t stop pummeling her. She had made mistakes. She had regrets. Who didn’t? She didn’t dwell on them. Her life was good. She thought about Myron. She thought about Greg. But mostly, despite modernity, despite everything, despite her own rebellion, she was first and foremost a mother. She didn’t say that to her friends when they gathered. She barely admitted it to herself. It felt too old-fashioned, too out-of-vogue, but the best of her, the most important role in her life, involved being a mother. Her own mother had told her that, way back when, before Jeremy was born. Your life is one thing before you have a child. It is forever something else after. Nothing is the same. Emily had pooh-poohed that canard. Of course, there would be changes, but she was steadfast in the fact that her path would not deviate from its intended course. How silly of her. The giant world she had known before the birth of her child had been reduced to a six-pound, fourteen-ounce mass on the day Jeremy was born. It was celestial and loving and feral.
The buzzing sounded again.
