Free Live to Tell by Wendy Corsi Staub

that’s what caught my eye when I was reading about your campaign. Your interest in health care issues.”
    Ah, health care.
    Yes, he’s interested.
    “You and I are cut from the same cloth. I may have cancer, but I’m a churchgoing woman, Congressman. I don’t believe stem cell research is the answer and I’m glad you don’t, either.”
    Garvey shakes his head thoughtfully. “Let’s just hope things go our way in the primaries next month, Barbara Ann.”
    “They will if I have anything to say about it.”
    “Thank you. I appreciate the support.”
    “You’re welcome. And if there’s anything you can do to get the press or the government to look into what’s going on here…”
    He nods. “I’ll see what I can do.”
    “Good.” She sighs heavily. “I’m just so afraid I won’t live to tell what I know about that chemical waste dump.”
    Her words strike a chord with him.
    Somewhere, someone is probably hoping that you won’t, Barbara Ann.
    But who knows if that’s true in her case?
    Just because it’s true in his own…
    He needs to get his hands on that file before the truth comes out and ruins him.
    “It was very good to meet you, Barbara Ann,” he says, with practiced patience, as if he has all the time in the world for her. For anything.
    “You too, Congressman.” At last, she loosens her grip on his hand. “And thank you. God will bless you for what you do.”
    Let’s hope so , he thinks grimly.
    But at this point, Garvey Quinn needs more than blessings.
    “One more stop,” a campaign assistant tells him as they stride toward the waiting black sedan. “On the way, we need to go over the speech for—”
    “Would you give me a minute, please?” BlackBerry in hand, Garvey scrolls through his new text messages.
    The first is from Caroline.
Daddy. I miss u. When r u coming home?
    He smiles briefly, then scrolls past it and one from Annie, not bothering to read that just yet.
    Ah, there it is.
All good. Expect news tonight.
    With a crisp nod of satisfaction, Garvey deletes the text, then tucks his BlackBerry back into his pocket.
    Tonight.
    He just hopes it’s not too late to keep the file from falling into the wrong hands and jeopardizing everything he’s ever worked for, wants… deserves .

    “That reminds me—the lawn needs cutting,” Elsa tells Brett across the table for two at the Bayview Chowder House. They meet here every Friday night: same time, same table, same servers, same crowd, same menu, same wardrobe, even: a polo shirt and chinos for him, a summer dress for Elsa.
    Funny that a woman who once considered herself an adventurer could take such comfort in predictability.
    Brett looks up inquisitively from the crab claw he was about to tackle. “We were talking about whether we’ll get home in time to catch the beginning of the Yankees–Red Sox game. How does that remind you that the lawn needs cutting?”
    She backtracks through her thought process—which, as usual, was partly on the conversation, and partly on Jeremy, who is perpetually alive in the back of her mind.
    Now isn’t a good time to bring up their lost son.
    Is there ever a good time?
    Not as far as Brett is concerned. It isn’t that he doesn’t care. It’s just that he doesn’t like to dwell on their tragic past—not, she suspects, as much for his own peace of mind as for Elsa’s. Ever protective of her, Brett treads warily around the topic of Jeremy, and only when forced.
    “I don’t know what made me think of it,” she tells her husband with a shrug. “It just popped into my head.”
    Brett shrugs, too. “I’ll get to it over the weekend.”
    She nods, but she doubts he will. Mowing the lawn isn’t his thing—part of the reason he wasn’t crazy about buying a house when they moved back to Connecticut.
    Until now, they’ve always lived in rentals. Someone else took care of the maintenance, inside and out.
    Brett is ready to put down roots here, but not literally. He wants nothing to do with