Matt nodded. Nothing Ganesh would say—nothing anyone could say—would make one bit of difference.

Ganesh leaned forward and lifted a tall cylindrical bong from the coffee table. Lighter in one hand, bong in the other, he gestured to Matt, offering the first hit.

Matt held up a hand to decline. He was never one for weed. And he always found it strange how Ganesh, a law-and-order Republican, used the drug as a crutch. But he supposed that was the enigma of his roommate from freshman year. Ganesh was finishing his four-year degree in three, and had already been accepted to med school to specialize in neuroscience. Fitting—Ganesh’s own brain could provide years of study. He was a conservative who chose to attend liberal NYU. He was an immigrant who loved to chant “Build the wall.” He was sophisticated, yet highly susceptible to cable news conspiracy theories. He grew up in a ten-million-dollar penthouse in Mumbai, yet chose to live in a shithole apartment on the outskirts of the East Village.

Ganesh blew out a lungful of smoke and aimed the remote at the television. “That douche RA was on TV talking about you. So was your girl.”

“Ex-girl,” Matt corrected.

“I DVR’d it,” Ganesh said. He scrolled through the recordings displayed on the screen, and clicked on one for the local news. Up popped Phillip’s preppy face.

“We’re all heartbroken,” Phillip said.

“You and Matt Pine are close?” said the blond reporter holding the microphone.

“Oh yeah. I’m not just the dorm’s RA. We’re like family.”

Ganesh barked out a cough of smoke at that.

Next up was Jane, her long hair flowing like she’d just had a blowout, her eyes wet and glistening.

“Mr. and Mrs. Pine were so wonderful. They treated me like one of the family. And Matthew’s sister, Margaret, was such a special girl—she was the family rock, and was going to MIT in the fall. And Tommy”—Jane’s voice cracked—“he was just a sweet little boy.”

The emotion was real. Just yesterday, Jane had told Matt that she loved him but he couldn’t give her what she needed. Whatever that was. Jane dumping him shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Yet for such a supposedly observant guy, he sure hadn’t seen it coming. She was from old money, raised in a breathtaking apartment on the Upper West Side, destined to marry one of those guys from Stern who wore business suits and carried briefcases to class. Matt sometimes suspected that Jane dated him—a film student and scholarship kid—just to piss off her parents.

The screen jumped to an image of Danny from the documentary. Matt reached for the remote and turned off the set.

He and Ganesh sat quietly for a long while, Matt lost in his head, Ganesh stoned, chomping on more salt-and-vinegar potato chips, not cluttering up the conversation with platitudes. This was one of the things Matt liked most about Ganesh. He never littered conversations. When the documentary had come out during Matt’s freshman year, Ganesh kept him sane during the chaos. “Don’t stress, bro,” he’d said. “Let’s make lemonade out of it, and use the show to get some girls.” It hadn’t been the worst advice.

Now Ganesh said, “There’s a party in Brooklyn I was gonna hit up if you wanna come?”

“I think I’ll just hang out. You mind if I stay here tonight?”

“Of course, man, as long as you need. It’ll be like the old days,” Ganesh said, as if their freshman year had been a lifetime ago. In many ways, it was.

“I can skip the party,” Ganesh said. “If you want some company, I can—”

“No, you should go. It’s been a long day. I’m just gonna get some sleep.”

“Cool, cool, cool,” Ganesh said. He disappeared into the bedroom and came out wearing a hoodie and smelling of Axe body spray.

“Your ex keeps texting me looking for you. So is everybody else. You want me to—”

“Hold off telling them where I am. I wanna be alone for a bit. I’ll reach out to everyone in the morning.”

Ganesh nodded. “You sure you don’t wanna come? Take your mind off things?”

Matt shook his head. This wasn’t one where he could just make lemonade out of it. “You go, have fun.”

Ganesh stuffed his hoodie pocket with what was left of the bag of weed on the coffee table and headed out.

Finally alone, Matt balled up on Ganesh’s sofa, and he wept.

CHAPTER 7

SARAH KELLER

Agent Keller slid the key into the door of the small ranch-style house, moths circling the porch light above her. Readington, New Jersey, wasn’t a fancy neighborhood, which was just as well. That would’ve been cost prohibitive, given her FBI salary. But it was safe, filled with working-class families and young couples in starter homes.

In the entryway, she stopped at the sound coming from the kitchen. She dropped her keys softly in the bowl on the front table and crept down the hall, walking carefully, avoiding the creaky patch of wood floor.

Outside the kitchen, the noise was louder. A shaking sound like maracas.

And giggling.

Staying quiet, Keller peeked inside.

At the stove was Bob, making one of those old-fashioned popcorns, the kind you shake on the stovetop, creating a dome of foil. Two feet away the twins watched him in action. Michael wore dinosaur pj’s and Heather the cotton nightgown with Belle on it.

Bob grasped the thin metal handle, rattling the foil pan quickly, and the two wiggled their bodies at the same speed as the jostling. He stopped suddenly, and the twins froze in place—Michael’s hands in the air like a scarecrow, Heather trying to hold in her laugh. Bob then made wide figure eights with the pan as the grease sizzled, and the kids made circular movements with their hips, spinning invisible Hula-Hoops.

Keller felt warmth run through her. Bob was bald, and not in the slick stylish way of the young agents at the Bureau. He had an old-school doughnut of thick black hair. His stomach hugged his frayed concert T-shirt. But he evoked the awe of a movie star in the eyes of their children. And to Keller.

Some girls wanted to marry their fathers. It was the reason why so many couples were unhappy, Keller surmised: women seeking idealized versions of the first man in their lives. But Keller had no illusions about her dad. Whereas her father was a hard-charging lawyer who spent too much time worrying about appearances, Bob was a stay-at-home dad who—well, look at him. Whereas her father thought showing emotion was for the weak, Bob wore his heart on his sleeve, crying during movies and at the kids’ school performances. Whereas her father had engaged in an affair with his secretary in the oldest of clichés, Bob was as loyal as a Labrador. Most of all, he was kind.

“Mommy!” the twins said in unison when they finally saw her spying in the doorway.

Keller knelt down and accepted the squeeze and she felt that sensation she loved.

Bob moved the popcorn pan to an unlit burner, and came over and gave her a kiss.

“We’re going to watch Frozen!” Heather said.

“Again,” Keller said, eyeing her husband. “But isn’t it past bedtime?”

“Pleasssse, Mom, please,” Michael said.

“Daddy said we could,” Heather chimed in.

“Give Mommy a minute to relax,” Bob said. “She’s had a long day.” He looked at Keller. “Can I make you something to eat?”

“I picked up a sandwich,” Keller said.

“How about some wine?” he said as he cut into the tinfoil dome and poured popcorn into a plastic bowl.

“That I could do.”

He looked at the twins. “You two go get the movie started,” he said. “We’ll be right there.”

Michael took the bowl of popcorn and padded off to the living room, his sister at his heels.

“Small bites!” Bob yelled after them. “Popcorn’s a choking food.”

Keller sat at the small kitchen table as Bob pulled a wineglass from the cupboard and placed it in front of her. He displayed the bottle and, in a fake French accent, said, “Only the finest from the Trader Joe’s collection.” He filled the glass.

Keller swirled the wine, then put her nose in the glass before taking a taste and swishing it in her mouth. “It’s no Whole Foods 2019, but it will do.”

He sat beside her. “Long day, huh?”

Keller exhaled heavily. “I took him upstate to Fishkill prison so he could tell his brother.”

“How’s he doing?”

Keller took a drink of the wine. “He’s twenty-one. His parents and little brother and sister are dead, and his older brother’s in prison. And let’s not forget the media circus.”

Bob listened as Keller told him about her very long day.

“I just kept thinking of his family,” Keller said. “The little boy was the same age as the twins.”

Bob put his hand on his wife’s. “Speaking of, it’s a bit too quiet in there. I’ll be right back.” He left the kitchen to check on the kids. He returned carrying Heather in one arm, Michael in the other, both fast asleep.

“Ahh, I wanted to cuddle them,” Keller said.

“Look on the bright side. Were you really up for Frozen again?”

Bob carried the twins to their bedrooms. When he made it back to the kitchen, Keller said, “I’m sorry I’ve been working so much lately.”

“Don’t you apologize.”