Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Acknowledgments
- P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*
- About the Author
- About the Book
- Also by Alison Gaylin
- About the Publisher
She tapped in her parents’ phone number. No answer. They had an old-fashioned answering machine rather than voice mail, so when it picked up, Robin started talking into it, loud enough to wake them but calm, so they wouldn’t panic. “Hi, Mom and Dad. I know it’s late, but can you please pick up? Mom? I really need to talk to you. Please?”
No answer.
“Hello?”
Still nothing. “Mom?”
Robin thought about calling her mother’s cell phone, but Mom hardly ever had it with her during the night. “I like to give my full attention to Dad, not Candy Crush,” she would explain.
Robin was starting to get worried. She tried again, louder. “Mom, please! It’s Robin! Pick up the phone!”
At last, someone picked up. “Are you within driving distance, ma’am?” A woman’s voice. Young. Clinical.
Robin’s heartbeat sped up. “I’m a few blocks away,” she said.
“Would you mind coming by their house?”
“Who is this? Where are my parents?”
“This is Officer Lebow with the Tarry Ridge Police Department,” the young woman said slowly. “I’m afraid there’s been an incident.”
Eight
Robin
INCIDENT. THE WORD throbbed in Robin’s head as she headed out to her car, clicked open the door, and drove the three short blocks to her parents’ home. Incident. The police officer’s clean, clinical voice. There’s been an incident.
Robin clutched the wheel, her palms sweating, heart pounding so hard she felt it in her face, her throat. It was hard to breathe.
“It’s okay.” She said it aloud, a harsh whisper, just to drown out that word and the thoughts that came with it, growing too loud as she approached her parents’ house, three police cars, two ambulances in the circular driveway, lights flashing in such a way it was almost festive, made her think of Christmas, that one Christmas when they had a tree. Dad had brought it home—a surprise. How come we can’t have a tree, just because we’re Jewish? Robin had said that so many times, begged and pleaded with her parents, but she hadn’t thought they’d ever do it, and then Daddy had come through the door smiling. “Come look outside,” he’d said, Mom stifling her laughter, eyes sparkling. “Come see what Santa strapped to my car!”
As Robin pulled into the driveway and got out of her car, she heard a voice saying her name. Dad. But when she whirled around, it was her parents’ longtime neighbor, Mr. Dougherty. “Robin,” he said again. “My God, Robin.” He wore plaid flannel pajama bottoms, a T-shirt that read DUKE UNIVERSITY. His daughter’s alma mater.