“I’m glad you get to know him now.”
“Well, I get to know about him. I don’t guess anyone can really know him.”
“Love and affection are never wasted,” Nate said. “I think of it this way.”
Outside, the last of the day was fading into blue. The sodium lights of the parking lot bathed cars in amber. Joe looked over at Nate. “Thank you, Nate. I couldn’t imagine who to ask to come with me, but you’re the perfect person.”
“I’m honored. I wish I had gone to see him with your uncle.” He smiled. “How was the facility when you made contact? Were they afraid you’d sue?”
“Not that I could tell,” Joe said and smiled back. “They were great, actually. The director offered to see if they could track down how it happened—what paperwork Mike shuffled around. I told them not to bother. He’s Caleb Evermore now. That’s okay with me, as long as he’s taken care of.”
“And what about you, Joe? Are you taken care of?”
A pause, then a shrug. “I’m good for now.”
“Will you go back to work?”
“Eventually. My old boss wants me back. I was never indicted, so I guess it’s possible. I’m gonna take some time, though, to stay near my brother. Stay dry.”
“You said ‘dry,’ not ‘sober,’” Nate said with an approving look. “You know your terms.”
“Can’t call myself sober yet. Working on it, though.”
“I never told you how sorry I was about your mother. It was all so sudden, and then so unresolved.”
“It’s okay. Mike never said he was sorry either, but that was because he hoped Lois would show up, step out of a cab, and come straggling up to the house with a suitcase. I dreamed of moments like that for a little while.”
“I hope you learned to dream about different things,” Nate said. “We all have to.”
“Yeah, we do. While we’re at it, I never thanked you.” Joe had been looking at Charles, who had fallen asleep. He shifted his eyes to Nate. “For what you did for us that night.”
“I lost Robbie,” he said, his eyes cast down. “I sent him down to something terrifying. Worse than that. I should have told your uncle, but I just . . .”
“It was a different time,” Joe said, his voice gravelly. “We had different tools then. I don’t know that it would have made a difference anyway. In the end, that night swallowed Robbie just like it did Lois.” He paused, collecting himself. “You, though”—he waited until Nate looked up at him—“you led me out of the dark. I’ll never owe a greater debt.”
“Stay in the light, Joe. It’ll be all the repayment I need.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My love affair with New York City, where I was born and where my wife and I now call home, began in the fourth grade, the end of which unfortunately coincided with 1977, a year many consider the very nadir for Gotham in modern times. Between the stalking terror of the Son of Sam, the crippling fiscal crisis, and then the blackout, 1977 seemed to portend the city’s permanent status as a moribund giant. But writing New York’s eulogy has proven consistently premature. While far from perfect, it remains vibrant, intoxicating, and deeply relevant—an estuary in more ways than one.
It was those darker days that inspired this story, of course. I watched it from afar, a suburban kid in the outskirts of Washington, DC. For a while I wrote it off also, but then thrilled to the comeback and chased my own NYC dream when special victims prosecution brought me to the Bronx in 2005. The threads of that earlier time still weave in my mind, whether through Woody Allen movies, scars on old streets, or the memories of loved ones. As always, I am indebted to the men and women of the NYPD for the passion, resolve, and humor they bring to a Sisyphean task, and to my brother and sister attorneys on both sides of the uncertain criminal equation. In particular, thank you, John Harford, Kevin Gagan, Sally Crabtree, Larry Harvey, and Lulu Gonzalez for inspiring these characters and for being living light in my life.
In polishing this book and bringing forth a final product, I am eternally grateful to the amazing team at Thomas & Mercer, most especially Jessica Tribble-Wells, Jon Reyes, and Nicole Burns-Ascue, all of whom steered me so wisely through a crucial editing process. Your skill, patience, and dedication have transformed this sad but hopeful story into a published work of fiction. To the extent it genuinely reflects even one of the millions of such stories that play out on these streets throughout all time, I am deeply proud and grateful.