Prologue (13 page)

It was late, and she was tired, so she considered taking the elevator down the twenty floors to the lobby. But her training dictated that stairs were safer. You never knew who might be waiting when an elevator door opened. Stairs always meant options.

Chapter 7

Monday, July 13, 2026

“Paul!”

“Hello, Amanda.”

Amanda Hutch placed her briefcase on the table in the otherwise-deserted history faculty lounge. “What a surprise. I knew you were here, of course,” she flustered. “I mean, MIT’s a small place, really, you’re bound to run into the other professors sooner or later, especially the physics faculty in the history lounge.
Makes sense.”

“So, how are you, Amanda?”

“I’m good,” she said. “You’re looking good, Paul. Married with a beautiful little girl, I hear.”

“Grace is an angel.”

Amanda nodded. She looked down at her purse and reached in. “I know. I heard about Beth,” she said, fumbling a cigarette out of a pack.

“Oh don’t start,” she said, lighting up.

“Smoke away,” Paul said. “Your lungs aren’t my concern any more.”

Amanda smiled. “Nice to know you still care.”

Rather than answer Paul smiled.
The ironic thing, he told himself as he stood there looking at her for the first time in 28 years was that he was surprised at how much he was caring. Oh, he had thought about her all right-every time he and Valerie had fought and he had told himself that this time he would not apologize under any circumstance, for instance. He had been able to roughly follow her career from a distance through the occasional Gorenect-mail from an old classmate with a casual reference. But until he again gazed at her shoulder length brown hair framing that thin pushed face with high eyebrows over bright eyes, he had forgotten how much he still cared.

Paul mellowed. “I always told you smoking was bad for you. You just never listened to me.”

“I know,” she said puffing out through the corner of her lips. “And I paid the price.”

“Price?”
Paul asked, confused.

“Cancer,” she answered matter-of-factly.
“Breast cancer and ovarian cancer.
Double whammy.
Survivor.”

Paul caught himself before his eyes instinctively moved downward. As if reading his thoughts Amanda spoke. “Right one. Everyone asks.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How’d you do?” he asked uncomfortably.

Amanda shrugged. “
Surgery,
and chemo. That was six years ago though.”

Paul nodded.
“What was the, ah…surgery?”

“For the breast?
They removed it,” she said simply. “But don’t
worry,
” she added with a nervous laugh, “they built me another.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, realizing how lame he sounded. In all the years of fantasizing a meeting with Amanda Hutch he never thought that the conversation would go like this. He seemed to be trapped in the topic. Twenty-eight years and within seconds of meeting her again he was discussing her surgery.

“You already apologized,” Amanda said. “Don’t. And don’t worry; no one knows what to say or how to react.”

She reached over and stamped out her cigarette. “Look, it was all six years ago. I’m officially known as a survivor. I’m also open about it.
Maybe too open.
I speak to other women on a regular basis
who
are facing what I faced.
Kaffee klatch stuff.”

She laughed again. To Paul it sounded forced.

“But you’re still smoking, I see. How can you?”

Amanda shrugged again. “Hey, they say the cancer wasn’t caused by the smoking. Who knows? But anyway, I’ve cut back tremendously. I actually kicked it for over five years. I just took it up again recently.”

Paul was desperate to change the subject. “I heard you got married too?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

“How is he?”

“Good, I hear. We divorced.”

“I’m sorry,” Paul stammered.

“Married twice, actually.
Yeah, well, you know me.
Married to my career.
Smart men stayed away.”

Paul didn’t answer.

“I did get the world’s greatest little boy out of it, though, with Will, my first husband.” She turned and fumbled through her pocketbook before pulling a picture from her wallet that she showed Paul. “Jeffrey. He’ll be fifteen next week.”

“Looks like you. Cute kid,” Paul said studying the photo. “Does he live with you?”

“No, his father’s remarried and living in
Braintree
, actually.
It’s a good home for Jeffrey, and it’s a stable life, as opposed to traipsing around with a university vagabond. I’ve taught in
Leningrad
,
Leipzig
,
Prague
and
Chapel Hill
. It’s no life for a kid.”

“You see him, of course.”

“I do. He stays with me for much of the summer, and sees his father and step-mom on weekends. Will picks Jeffrey up for the weekend, and by the time he brings him back he’s got a list of things I’m doing wrong.” Amanda sighed. “I know I should ignore it, but sometimes it gets to me.”

“Does Jeffrey enjoy living with his father?”

“Oh, are you kidding? They go camping,
sailing,
Will took him off-roading in
New Hampshire
last week. Jeffrey loves it. I will say that for Will, he’s an awfully good dad.”

“Jeffrey’s lucky,” Paul said.

“Yes,” Amanda said. “I guess he is. His stepmother’s quite nice, too.”

“You were married twice?” Paul asked.

Amanda opened her pocketbook and pulled out her purse. She again studied the photograph of the smiling red-haired boy before stuffing it back inside.

“You know, one of those European marriages that sound great sitting around a bistro someplace,” she said as she slammed the purse back inside her bag.

“You came to MIT because Jeffrey’s in
Braintree
?”

“Partly,” Amanda said looking up. “Also, I heard you were here,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him.

Momentarily nonplused, Paul started to speak and then stopped.

Amanda laughed and looked away. “I’m no home wrecker,” she said. “I think we can be friends, Paul.” She looked back at him. “I’d really like that.”

“So would I,” Paul said. He looked around, saw no one, took a piece of paper out of his pocket and showed it to Amanda. “I’ll trust your thinking is the same as it used to be. I hear it is. Do you know where this is?”

“1416 Sou –”

Paul moved quickly and clamped his hand over her mouth. Amanda’s eyes flared up for a second,
then
she blinked and nodded in understanding. Paul took his hand away.

Amanda studied the address and the rough directions Paul had written. “I can find it.”

“Great. It’s our bowling league, and if you’d like to join a team we’re a man short. Say, seven-thirty Thursday night?”

Amanda shrugged. “I’ll bring my bowling shoes. Well, have to get to class. I’m teaching summer school.” She stood up and took Paul’s outstretched hand. She seemed to hold it an extra moment. “Is this the sort of team I want to join?” she asked.

Paul nodded. “I think so. We may be playing for the championship soon, and we need you.”

Amanda shook her head. “Seven-thirty,” she said.

Chapter 8

Tuesday, July 14, 2026

“Were you followed?”

Lewis Ginter stepped inside the front door of the
Beacon Street
brick Victorian in
Newton
and collapsed his black umbrella. Rainwater ran off the fabric and dripped onto the hardwood floor. Lorrie Maddox stepped around him and glanced nervously up and down the street before closing the wooden door.

He contemplated not answering but every crease of Lorrie’s face seemed to betray real fear.

“No, of course not.
I parked two blocks up on that back street and doubled past the house twice. There’s no one on the street.”

Lorrie hesitated as if considering whether to believe him. Finally, she nodded slowly.

“Everyone’s downstairs,” she said and turned toward the rear of the house. Lewis followed her through the foyer to the kitchen and past the granite topped island.

“Beautiful house,” he said.

Without looking back she nodded. From the rear of the house he saw a blue light flickering from the solarium and heard the voices of the Red Sox announcers.

“Not raining in
Ohio
, I see,” he offered and then added, “What’s the score?”

“Six nothing,
Cleveland
,” she answered without looking back.

As he passed the entryway to the solarium he saw Lorrie’s husband hunched forward staring at the screen. Lewis followed Lorrie down the cellar stairs. At the bottom he ducked under a protruding beam. He stepped onto a squishy carpet and instinctively lifted each foot. No use. Through a casement window he could see water cascading off the back roof and pooling in the window well.