Free Seconds Away by Harlan Coben Page A

tricky problems. And sometimes . . .”
    “Sometimes what?”
    “Sometimes I rescue them.”
    Myron started driving.
    “Is that what you think you’re doing with me?” I asked. “Rescuing me?”
    “No. You’re family.”
    “So was your brother. Why didn’t you rescue him?”
    I saw the pain flash across his face. But I wasn’t done.
    “You could have, you know,” I said, and it was like a dam broke. “You could have rescued both of them. Mom and Dad. Right from the start. You could have understood that they were young and scared. You could have accepted that they loved each other instead of trying to break them up. Mom could have delivered me and gone back to her tennis. She could have been the great star she was supposed to be. Mom and Dad wouldn’t have had to run away—they could have raised me right here. I could have had a real relationship with my grandparents. You and I, we could have been uncle and nephew. We could have played ball together.”
    Myron stared straight ahead. A tear ran down his cheek. My eyes started to brim up too, but I’d be damned if I would let any tears escape.
    I didn’t let up. “And if you had done any of that, Mom wouldn’t be a shell of herself sitting in rehab today. She’d be laughing that laugh. And Dad would be alive, and we’d all be hanging out. Do you ever think of that, Myron? Do you ever look back and wonder, what if you had believed in them?”
    I felt suddenly spent and exhausted. I closed my eyes. My head dropped back on the neck rest.
    A few moments later, Myron spoke in a soft, pained voice. “I do think about that. I think about it every day.”
    “So why, Myron? Why didn’t you help?”
    “Maybe you can learn from my mistakes.”
    “Learn what?”
    “It’s like I said before.” Myron pulled into the driveway, his face darkening. “There are always consequences to being a hero. Especially when you’re sure you’re doing the right thing.”

CHAPTER 16
    When we got home, Myron and I went our separate ways. I did homework with the television on, hoping to catch updates of the shooting at Rachel’s house, but the cable news had no mentions of it.
    I thought a lot about Rachel sitting in that hospital bed. I thought about Ema and the rumors Spoon had heard. I thought about my mother going through detox. I thought about my father dead and Bat Lady’s cryptic words. I thought about Myron’s warning about the dangers of being a hero.
    I was going to go online and search for Rachel’s name, but before I did, I flipped stations, figuring I’d check the local news. Channel Five ran its ominous nightly warning: “It’s ten P.M ., do you know where your children are?” before flashing to the news.
    The anchorman had black hair that looked like a plastic wig with wet paint and enough rouge on his cheeks to remind me of a visit to the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus.
    “The president visits troops overseas. A shooting in Kasselton leaves a mother dead and a daughter hospitalized. And that soda you’re drinking? It might be poisonous. We’ll tell you all about the big soda scare and how to stay safe—after this commercial break.”
    I looked down at my glass of water. I was glad it wasn’t soda.
    When the waxy anchorman came back, he talked about the president and then he got to the “soda scare” story, which told how one person claimed to have found a worm in a certain soda that he got in a fast-food restaurant in West Nyack and so the how-to-stay-safe warning seemed to be to check your soda if you bought it at a certain fast-food restaurant in West Nyack.
    Finally: “A shooting in a ritzy neighborhood in Kasselton, New Jersey, last night left a mother dead and her daughter with a gunshot wound to the head.” The screen now showed Rachel’s house. “The shooting of Nora Caldwell and her daughter, Rachel, took place in this lavish mansion. Police believe that it may have been a break-in gone wrong, but they also say it is