The Stranger

by Harlan Coben

If you ever wanted to witness type As behaving as such in their natural habitat, Adam thought, watch when parents get involved in their own offsprings’ team selections. The Discovery Channel should film this.

“Who are you?” Adam asked. “Does it matter?” “Yeah, it does.” “I’m the stranger,” he said. “The stranger with important knowledge. She lied to you, Adam.

“You know he’s the VP of the board, right?” “I must remember to genuflect next time I see him,” Adam said. “I’m president.” “In that case, I better get some kneepads.” Tripp nodded, liking that line. “Bob’s going through a lot right now.” “Bob’s an ass waffle.” “Well, yes. Do you know why I stay on as president?” “Helps you score chicks?” “Yes, that. And because if I resign, Bob’s next in line.”

“Man, you’re so cynical for an ad exec.”

He stumbled past his father and grabbed the leash. Jersey was huddled up against the door, ready to go. Jersey was, like all dogs, always ready to go. She displayed her intense desire to go outside by standing in front of the door so you couldn’t open it and let her out. Dogs.

He clicked on the link for the “featured products you purchased!” The top item was for a “SUPER NEW Fake Pregnancy Test!” Adam just shook his head. The normal price of $34.95 had a red slash through it in favor of the sale price $19.99, and then, in black italics underneath that, “You save $15!” Well, great, thanks for the savings. I sure hope my wife didn’t pay retail!

“And,” Adam continued, feeling the rant rising up, “then she claims that in these massive cities—Boston, Denver, Los Angeles—that there ain’t nobody like her. Full of yourself much?” “Adam?” “What?” “You may be overthinking it, my brother.” Adam nodded. “True.” “You overthink a lot of stuff, Adam.” “That I do.” “It’s why you’re the best attorney I know.” “Thanks,” Adam said. “And no, you can’t leave work early for your gig.” “Aw, come on. Don’t be that guy.”

The world moves on, which is an outrage. Adam had learned that when he was fourteen years old and his father died of a sudden heart attack. He had sat in the big black car next to his mom and stared out the window and watched everyone else in the world living their lives. Kids still went to school. Parents still went to work. Cars honked their horns. The sun still shone. His dad was gone. And nothing changed.

The world was divisive and always fighting, so it was nice when people fought over something as meaningless as professional basketball.

It hadn’t been what he wanted so much as the smooth, well-paved path that men like him simply ended up taking: a safe place to raise his children, a lovely home with four bedrooms, a two-car garage, a basketball hoop in the driveway, a gas grill on the wooden deck overlooking the backyard.

The kitchen table was a mess, done up in Early American Homework.

Adam didn’t have to be told that the woman shouting was Tony’s mother. Had to be. When a parent calls out to her own child, you can always tell. There is that harsh ping of disappointment and exasperation in their voice. No parent believes they sound this way. Every parent does. We all hear it. We all think that only other parents do it but that magically we are immune.

Adam reminded himself that he was not one of those parents who lived through his kids or looked at lacrosse as a ticket to a better college. He enjoyed the sport for one simple reason: His sons loved playing. But parents all tell themselves a lot of things. The Croatian hunchback, right?

“Can we skip this part?” Adam asked. “What?” “The part where you pretend you have no idea what I’m talking about.

“We’re in a minefield,” she said. “Like someone just dropped us right in the middle of it, and if we move too fast in any direction, we’re going to step on an explosive and blow this whole thing up.” She looked at him. He looked at her. “I didn’t drop us in the minefield,” he said through gritted teeth. “You did.”

“I’m an old cop, remember?” “Of course.” “I pride myself on reading faces.” “And what are you seeing on mine?” Adam asked. “That you’re cooking up a badass, killer idea.” “I may be,” Adam said. “I think I can end this quickly if you have the stomach for it.” The old man smiled. “Do I look like I’m afraid of a fight?”

“What’s for dinner?” Ryan asked. “Good, thanks. Work was busy, sure, but overall, yeah, I’d say I had an okay day. How about you?” Ryan just stared at his father. Ryan often just stared at his father.

When Marty came home, she said nothing. Marty cooked up burgers on the grill in the yard. Heidi poured them both drinks. He talked about his day. She talked about hers. The secret was there, of course. It sat at the kitchen table in Kimberly’s old chair, never speaking but never budging, either.

was the kind of guy who never looked comfortable in a business suit. The shoulders were too tight or one sleeve was too long, something, so that he was always adjusting himself and you could see all he really wanted to do was rip the damn thing off. Lots of guys looked like that to Adam. Somewhere along the way, the suit had been strapped to them like the proverbial straitjacket, and now they simply couldn’t get it off.

Mayor Gusherowski approached Adam with a Guy Smiley smile—the perfect blend of game show host and Muppet. “Wonderful to meet you, Adam!” He gave Adam the perfunctory too-enthusiastic handshake, adding that little pull toward him that politicians believed made the recipient feel somehow inferior or obligated. “Can I call you Adam?”

“That’s not fair, Adam. We both know the community would be better served with this project coming to fruition.” “We both don’t know that,” Adam said. “But either way, I don’t represent the community. I represent the Rinskys.”

“So you’ll listen to reason?” “If I ever hear it.” Adam gave a little wave and turned to go. “Have a good night, Gush. We’ll talk again soon.”

Jerry still talked. Bob still smiled. Smiled and smiled. Smiled like an idiot, and when he finally said, “Well, I appreciate you calling me and letting me know,” Bob bet that he sounded like a truly confident idiot.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with, pal.” “I think I have a pretty good idea,” Adam said. “Gush?” “What?” “Build your new village around the house. It’s doable. Oh, and have a nice day.”

Barb was sitting in that same chair. She turned toward him and gave him a weary smile. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair looked as though it’d taken a late bus to get here. But when she smiled at him, that was still all he could see.

The smell was pure New Jersey lore and the reason for much of the state’s misconception. The odor was part swamp (obviously), part chemical from whatever had been used to drain the swamp, and part dorm bong that never got rinsed out. In sum, seriously funky.

Adam stayed perfectly still. Then he said: “I just want to make sure I understand.” “Let me see if I can help, then. Corinne knew that we were looking at her for the theft, and she made it clear that we shouldn’t tell you,” Tripp said. “You understand just fine.”

Yep, Heidi was magic. She was one of those people who made all those around her feel somehow better about themselves. How, Johanna wondered, does one bullet take out a spirit like that?