Harlan Coben - Play Dead

James returned her hug with surprising vigor. ‘How’s my little girl?’

‘I’m fine, Daddy,’ Laura said.

‘Bullshit,’ he whispered.

Laura managed a small laugh. ‘I miss him so much,’ she whispered back.

‘I know, honey,’ he said. ‘I know.’

They managed to release one another. Laura looked at her father. David’s death had aged him too. James Ayars’s face was a bit more worn; a few new worry lines had been etched into it. As always, he was dressed immaculately. His suit was covered with a Burberry trenchcoat, matching scarf, matching hat, matching gloves.

Mary was taking off her heavy overcoat. Laura noticed that her mother still trembled fiercely. The combination of sleepless nights and a few too many wines with dinner had continued to change Mary’s rosy complexion into a pasty one.

‘Where’s your new young man?’ James asked Gloria.

Gloria beamed. ‘He’ll be here in a minute. He just went to get some popcorn.’

Dr Ayars smiled encouragingly at his oldest daughter. ‘We’re all looking forward to meeting him.’

‘I just know you’re going to like him,’ Gloria added.

‘I’m sure we will,’ he replied gently.

Laura eyed her mother with concern. Despite the Garden heat, Mary’s body trembled like she had been left out in the frigid cold. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked her mother.

Mary tried to force on a smile but it never made it to her eyes. ‘Just a little cold. Nothing to worry about.’

For a moment, no one spoke. They all just glanced around the Garden, glanced at the parquet floor, glanced at one another.

‘There he is!’ Gloria cried.

Laura looked behind them. Stan moved briskly down the stairs. He smiled at Gloria as if he only had eyes for her. What a slug, Laura thought, but she had to admit to herself that his lovesick puppy act was good. Very good.

Heads swirled in the general direction of Stan as he continued his trip down the aisle. He was practically skipping, joy in his every step. He bounced down to their row and greeted Gloria with a quick kiss on the cheek. Gloria blushed and grabbed his hand.

‘Mom, Dad, Aunt Judy,’ she began, ‘I’d like you to meet Stan Baskin.’

Stan turned toward them, stuck out his hand and froze. His smile disappeared. The color in his face ebbed away. His mouth dropped open.

Mary and Judy stared back at him with looks that mirrored his own. Only James ignored Stan’s expression. Dr Ayars stood and took the outstretched hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Stan,’ he said.

Like a boxer who uses the standing eight count to get his bearings back, Stan began to recover. His smile returned, though not to its original potency. He shook James’s hand. ‘Pleasure to meet you, sir.’ He then greeted Judy and Mary cordially, not meeting their eyes and they not meeting his. Finally, he sat down.

‘What the hell was that all about?’ Serita whispered to Laura.

‘Beats me,’ Laura replied. ‘Weird, huh?’

‘At the very least.’

Laura watched her mother visibly sag and now even Aunt Judy looked worn. What the hell was going on? An uncomfortable silence hung over them. The seat on Laura’s left was left open for T.C., who had told her he was going to be a little late. Laura wished he were here. She’d like to know what he would have made of Stan’s introduction to her family.

An uncomfortable silence circled around them until Laura turned toward Judy. ‘Tell us about Colin,’ she said.

Judy seemed relieved at the break in tension. ‘He’s a geology professor at Colgate. Head of the department.’

‘And?’ Serita encouraged.

Judy smiled. ‘And he’s terrific.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ Gloria enthused.

‘Yeah, well, enough about me,’ Judy said. ‘I hear the Celtics got a great prospect in this Seidman kid.’

Mary Ayars tried her best to pretend everything was normal, that everything was just fine. ‘You’re not still a basketball nut, are you, Judy?’

‘Are you kidding?’ Judy answered, also trying like hell to keep the mood upbeat. Between David’s memorial and Stan’s reaction to seeing them… ‘I got tickets to the Final Four already and I put in MSG so I’ll be able to see all the Knicks games this year.’

Mary looked puzzled. ‘What is a Knick? And what on earth is an MSG?’ she asked.

Judy chuckled. ‘Forget it.’

Their conversation came to a halt when the loudspeaker blared, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the 1989-90 Boston Celtics!’

A sudden roar blared out from all points, consuming the arena in waves of sound. Twelve men with green warm-ups jogged onto the court and the roar became impossibly louder. For a split second Laura looked for David on the familiar parquet floor. When she realized that he was not there, that he would never again be there, the familiar pain ripped into her heart.

The players circled the floor a few times and then some began to stretch out while others grabbed basketballs from the rack and took some shots. Laura spotted Earl standing under the basket. He half waved in their direction. Serita returned the wave by blowing him a kiss and winking suggestively. Laura scanned the other familiar faces. David’s teammates all caught her eye and smiled warmly, sadly. Timmy Daniels, Johnny Dennison, Mac Kevlin, Robert Frederickson… all except one.

Number thirty.

Number thirty was the only face Laura did not recognize. He was about six-five with curly, blonde hair. His body was well-toned and defined – a nearly perfect physique. She watched as he took lay-ups in a relaxed manner, flipping the ball casually onto the backboard without really looking, knowing it would hit on the precise angle and go in. Laura realized that this had to be the rookie Earl and Serita had talked about last week. What was his name again? Aunt Judy had just mentioned it. Seidman. Mark Seidman. The man from nowhere.

Mark Seidman.

As though hypnotized, Laura watched the new Celtic weave through the lay-up drill: waiting on line, shooting, waiting on line, rebounding. Mark Seidman moved smoothly and without hesitation. He seemed loose, incredibly loose for a first-game rookie whom the press had built up as the Celtics’ new savior.

T.C. arrived as the referee tossed the ball in the air to begin the game. He said hello to everybody (except Stan) and gently slid past them (except Stan – T.C. purposely stepped on his foot). ‘Sorry about that, Stan ol’ boy,’ he said with deep regret. ‘It was an accident.’

T.C. Ignored Stan’s angry glare and collapsed heavily into the empty seat next to Laura. ‘How’s it going, champ?’

‘Not bad,’ Laura said.

‘Sorry about being late.’

‘You only missed the opening tap.’

They turned their attention toward the game. Johnny Dennison passed the ball to Timmy Daniels. Timmy looked around before tossing it inside to Big Mac Kevlin. Mac was double-teamed. He passed it out to Mark Seidman. Seidman was trapped in the corner.

‘He’s going to have to shoot,’ T.C. remarked. ‘The shot clock is ticking down.’

As if on cue, Mark Seidman leaped in the air, twisted, and took a fade-away jumpshot. The ball touched the backboard and fell in, Laura felt the breath shoot out of her. Her stomach coiled in pain. That jumpshot. That damn fade-away jumpshot – no wonder they call him White Lightning II.

‘Jesus, T.C., did you see that?’

T.C. nodded. ‘Hell of a good shot.’

‘Unbelievable,’ Judy uttered from their left, her voice cracking.

Mary did not pay attention to the game. Her eyes darted about, sneaking glances in Stan’s general direction. Stan’s concentration also wandered away from the parquet floor and toward those with whom he was seated. He gripped Gloria’s hand tightly, his face frighteningly pale.