Hold Tight

by Harlan Coben

For the first time Mike felt on the downside of life’s roller coaster—the back nine of life, as his golfer friends put it.

The teen years were so angst-filled, so hormone-fueled, so much emotion packed in and then raised to the tenth power—and it all passed so quickly. You couldn’t tell a teen that. If you could hand down one piece of wisdom to a teenager, it would be simple: This too shall pass—and it would pass quickly. They wouldn’t listen, of course, because that’s the beauty and waste of youth.

Violence breeds violence—but not just in the obvious, retaliatory way. The molested child grows up to become the adult molester. The son traumatized by his father abusing his mother is far more likely to one day beat his own wife. Why? Why do we humans never really learn the lessons we are supposed to? What is in our makeup, in fact, that draws us to that which should sicken us?

Do you ever watch your children sleep, Tia?” Tia nodded. “I think all parents do.” “Why do you think that is?” “Because they look so innocent.” “Maybe.” Betsy smiled. “But I think it’s because we can just stare at them and marvel at them and not feel weird about it. If you stare at them like that during the day, they’ll think you’re nuts. But when they’re sleeping . . .”

Trust is like that. You can break it for a good reason. But it still remains broken.