Silverstein gave him a sympathetic look. “And how’s Danny? Did you get to talk to him?”

Evan thought of the call when he broke the news. He pictured his son’s face pressed to the dirty telephone at Fishkill, knowing he’d probably spend the rest of his life there, or some other godforsaken hole.

“He took it better than I’d anticipated. He actually spent most of our call talking about Linkin Park.”

Dr. Silverstein’s expression was curious. Evan realized she had no idea what he was talking about.

“They’re a band. The day I called Danny about the appeal, the radio said it would’ve been the singer’s birthday. He died a few years ago. Danny and I, we used to…” He trailed off. His mind ventured to the two of them driving home from football practice, Danny, smelly and sweaty, cranking up the car stereo, both of them belting out the lyrics to “Numb.”

“Something the two of you used to bond over?” Silverstein said. “The music…”

Evan smiled in spite of himself. “In high school Danny was obsessed with the band. I never understood why. Their songs are so rage-filled. Songs about teen angst, wrecked father-and-son relationships—the opposite of me and Danny.” More fitting for Evan and Matt.

“How’s the rest of your family dealing with the news? Olivia?” Before Evan started his solo sessions last year, the Pine clan used to trek out to this very office every other Saturday for family therapy, so Silverstein knew them and their brand of dysfunction well.

“Liv?” Evan said. “I think she’s come to terms that Danny isn’t getting out.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

It used to make him angry. Enraged. But now he was jealous—jealous that his wife didn’t spend every waking moment feeling like she’d been thrown into Lake Michigan with cinder blocks anchored to her limbs. Evan had once read about dry drowning, a person slowly dying hours or even days after leaving the water. That’s how he’d felt for the past seven years, oxygen slowly being stolen from his damaged insides. “I understand. We all had to find ways to deal with it.”

Dr. Silverstein seemed to see right through his forced reasonableness. But she’d prodded enough for now.

“And how about the rest of your kids?”

“Maggie’s hanging in there.” He smiled, thinking of his daughter. “She’s busy wrapping up her senior year, so that helps. But she’s always been my trouper—she believes that her big brother will get out, regardless of what the Supreme Court says.”

Dr. Silverstein offered a sad smile.