Darkness My Old Friend

expected, and he’d be struck wondering, what would it be? A slip in the shower? A car accident? Murder? Maybe he would be murdered by someone like that psycho Kevin Carr. But then it would pass. It was a specter that lingered for everyone, wasn’t it?

Maybe the night terrors would come back. But maybe they wouldn’t, now that he knew what he was supposed to be doing with his life. He was meant to be helping people-and not just checking their mail and watering their plants. He knew that as surely as he knew anything. And the fact that he knew with such clarity made him think that maybe, after all, there was something larger than himself. Maybe.

“When last you were here, we talked about your father,” said Dr. Dahl. He was apparently looking to pick at some scabs. Maybe Jones seemed too happy today. The doctor was afraid he’d be out of a job. “Have you done any thinking about that?”

“Some,” Jones said. “I’ve thought about it some.”

He had thought about it some. But he wasn’t ready to talk to the doctor or anyone about it, not even Mags.

“Would you care to share your thoughts?”

Jones looked at the clock. “I think our time is up, Doc,” he said. It was up-a little over, in fact.

“Ah, yes,” said Dr. Dahl. “Next week, then.”

“Definitely.”

At the reception desk, he paid his bill. As he waited for his receipt, Jones watched some other guy about his age walk into Dr. Dahl’s office. He wondered what that guy’s problem was. He looked depressed.

Jones had promised his wife that he’d keep seeing Dr. Dahl, and he would. He knew it helped him, kept him thinking about and working on the things that he might otherwise avoid. Maggie needed that, deserved that, and so did he. And more than that, Maggie was hot for him right now. She was digging the whole PI thing. She was proud of him for staying in therapy. She was sleeping in their bedroom. She wasn’t mad at him, had stopped giving him the look. She was a smart woman, and he’d do what she wanted. If he knew what was good for him.

Out in the car, he reached over to the file he’d left on the passenger seat. He’d written the name on the protruding tag: Jefferson Cooper.

It had taken him only a couple of hours to find his father. All these years, and all he had to do was pick up a phone. He dug through some of Abigail’s old papers and found his father’s Social Security number. Jones gave Jack a call at noon, and by three that afternoon he had an address, credit and employment history. He hadn’t decided what he was going to do with that. He hadn’t allowed himself to have a memory of his father-ever. Maggie had suggested once that he try to think of three good memories he had of the time he, his father, and his mother were all together. Every time he did this, he felt that headache come on, had the urge to run for the nearest burger joint, anesthetize himself with fat and simple carbs. He’d be taking his time with this. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

When he got back to the house, the sun was already low in the sky. The days were getting shorter. Ricky’s car was waiting in the driveway. Ricky would be home tomorrow. They’d already made plans to go look at a new stereo for the car, something the kid wanted for Christmas. Jones knew that it would probably be their only time together. Ricky would be seeing his friends who were home for the weekend, too, including Charlene, his son’s on-again, off-again girlfriend. At the moment they were only friends. She made Jones nervous, for a lot of reasons. Too much history there, like everything in The Hollows. Everything was tangled and connected across years and families. He wanted Ricky to get away, not be tethered here to this place as he was, as Maggie was now because of Jones.

Anyway, he’d make his time with Ricky count. He’d talk, wouldn’t get all tongue-tied and silent. He’d written some things down, questions to ask about MyFace, and e-mail, texting, too. He’d ask about Rick’s music. Did he find a band? And what were his favorite classes? Had he met any girls? Maggie had helped him come up with some topics. And listen when he talks. Try not to do any lecturing, even if you don’t agree with what he says.

On the porch he stopped to look up at the mourning doves. They both sat in their perch and stared at him. One of them issued an annoyed little chirp.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “One more night.”

He went inside. There was music playing, something classical (slow and depressing), maybe Chopin? He followed the sound and found Maggie in the kitchen, cooking-a rarity since Ricky had left home. She was making lasagna, their son’s favorite.

“My last patient canceled today,” she said when he walked in. “I thought I’d do something special, since Rick is coming home tomorrow.” She’d been better about calling him that; their son didn’t like “Ricky” anymore.

He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, took in the scent of her hair, lavender and sage. And in the warmth of his own kitchen, with his wife in his arms, his son on his way home, his calling acknowledged if not exactly answered, Jones Cooper felt good. He felt alive, and grateful for it.

“Another call came in while you were out,” she said. “Eloise Montgomery.”

“Oh?” The sound of her name stirred something in him. It wasn’t anxiety, exactly. But it was something close.

“She asked if you’d return her call. In fact, what she said precisely was, ‘Will you ask him to please call, if he is so moved?’ ”

What had the doctor said? I just wonder if it’s not the darkness of it all that calls you, Jones. The doctor was right. The darkness did call to him, didn’t it? And he would answer. He spun his wife around and kissed her gently on the mouth. But he wouldn’t answer tonight.

acknowledgments

I am continuously astounded by the wonderful, loving, and supportive people I have in my life-both personally and professionally. Over the years, the people I work with have become my dear friends, and the lines between life and work are happily blurred. I’ll take this opportunity, as I always do, to shower them all with praise and thanks:

My husband, Jeffrey, and our daughter, Ocean Rae, are simply everything. Every day they bring immeasurable amounts of love and laughter into my life. My husband is a true partner in every sense of the word, making our world safe and secure so that I can find the time and the mental space to write. He’s also hot. And he does the accounting. And, did I mention? He’s a great cook. I am floored by the wisdom, beauty, light, and sheer power my daughter displays. Watching her grow from a little bean into my budding rose is the greatest joy and pleasure of my life. She has made me a better person, and a better writer. And she totally cracks me up daily. Really, she is so cool-cooler than I can ever hope to be.

My agent, the brilliant and fabulous Elaine Markson, and her assistant, the incomparable Gary Johnson, hold my entire professional world together. Elaine has been my unflagging supporter and champion for more than ten years, and she is also my cherished friend. Gary keeps me sane (though I’m quite sure I don’t do the same for him) and keeps me laughing. I really can’t begin to list everything they do for me, day after day. But, as I’ve said before (and it only gets more true each year), I’d be lost without them.

I am indebted to my wonderful editor, Shaye Areheart, and to the truly stellar team at Crown: Maya Mavjee, Molly Stern, John Glusman, Jill Flaxman, Whitney Cookman, David Tran, Jacqui LeBow, Andy Augusto, Kira Walton, Patty Berg, Donna Passannante, Annsley Rosner, Sarah Breivogel, Linda Kaplan, Karin Schulze, Cindy Berman, Kate Kennedy, Domenica Alioto, and Christine Kopprasch. This is a long list, but believe me when I say that every single one of these people brings a unique and special talent to the team, and I am thankful to them all. Of course, I can never say enough good things about the amazing, top-notch sales force. They are on the front lines of an ultra- competitive business. I know that my books find their way into the hands of readers largely through their tireless efforts on my behalf.

My family and friends continue to cheer me through the good days and drag me through the challenging ones.