Don't Let Go

by Harlan Coben

Suzanne was “cleaning up the filth” by trying to twist the reality of her town into the idyllic haven she believed it should be. Hank was mere refuse. Best to dump him curbside where he could be trucked out of sight and smell. I would lecture Suzanne Hanson on her lack of empathy, but what’s the point? I remember once when we were maybe ten, driving through a rough neighborhood in Newark. Parents always tell their kids to look out the windows and be grateful for what they’ve got. But our dad handled it differently. He just said one line that has always stuck with me: “Every person has hopes and dreams.”

Libraries for me have always had a cathedral-like ambiance, a hushed sanctuary where learning is revered, where we the people elevate books and education to the level of the religious.

That’s when the denial kicks in. Denial saves you. Denial throws up a protective fence. Denial grabs hold of you before you leap off that ledge. Your hand rests on a hot stove. Denial pulls your hand back.

That’s how people are. They all hunger for the details not solely because they are ghoulish—that’s part of it, no question—but more because they need to know that it can’t possibly happen to them. Those teens drank too much. They took drugs. They took foolish chances. Their parents didn’t raise them right. They didn’t watch close enough. Whatever. Can’t happen to us. Denial isn’t just for the grieving.