CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 1
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 2
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 1
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 1
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 1
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 3
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 2
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 4
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 2
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 3
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 2
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 5
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 4
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 6
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 3
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 4
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 3
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 7
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 4
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 5
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 8
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 5
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 6
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 5
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 9
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 6
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 6
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 10
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 7
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 7
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 11
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 8
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 7
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 9
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 12
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 8
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 10
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 13
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 8
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 9
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 9
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 10
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 10
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 11
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 14
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 11
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 11
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 12
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 12
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 12
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 13
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 14
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 13
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 15
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 13
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 14
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 15
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 16
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 15
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 16
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 17
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 14
MARIAN'S STORY
Chapter 16
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 17
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 18
EPILOGUE
Explanation
Copyright Page
As to truth, I haven't even tried to dissect its nature. All I know is that the surest way to make enemies is to always tell the truth. So, its nature probably is quite complex.
—Jose Latour
Powerless is speech.
Still, it bests a tear
In attempts to reach,
Crossing the frontier.
—Joseph Brodsky,
“A Martial Law Carol”
There are people who are as much a part of this book as the words in it. Expressing my gratitude isn't enough, but it's a start. Thank you to:
My agent, Steve Axelrod, who stayed calm, and my editor, Kate Miciak, who got excited.
Steve Fagan, Laura Lippman, D. P. Lyle MD, FDNY Lt. Simon Ressner, Betsy Harding, Royal Huber, Jamie Scott, and Lawton Tootle, for technical help and support.
Keith Snyder, Nancy Ennis, Carl Stein, Steven Blier, Hillary Brown, Monty Freeman, Max Rudin, Eve Rudin, James Russell, Amy Schatz, Nancy Richler, Vicki Trerise, Reed Coleman, Jonathan Santlofer, Paula Woods, Felix Liddell, Denise Bigo, John Douglas, Stuart Early, Jennifer Jaffee, Tina Meyerhoff, Larry Pontillo, Tom Savage, Jose Latour and his wonderful family, Jayne and Frank Krentz, Bob Hughes, and Joe Wallace, for aid and comfort.
Susanna Bergtold and Andrea Knutson, for being where they were, and being with me.
And especially, James Grady and Archer Mayor, for helping me find the floor.
BOYS' OWN BOOK
Chapter 1
Four boys, three girls, high and soaring, skin sizzling, tingling under the dizzying stars. Everything open and opening: the ragtop to the sky, the sky endlessly to the huge summer night. This night to their limitless lives.
Everything opening: In the black sky tight bright bursts eclipse the luminous moon, explode as fiery streaks, fountains of scarlet, rockets of silver, purple blooms and sprays of green. On the radio rising swells of tinny music; from the car shouts and applause.
Everything opening: the girls to the boys, not for the first time, but with a new, laughing heat. The boys to each other, grunts and shrugs and grins their fiercely sworn oaths, beer cans their glittering tokens of fealty.
Everything, everything opening: surprisingly, newly, the boys to the girls.
The boys? One is quiet, and one sure; one eager; and one flying, as always, too near the sun. The girls are royalty to these boys, have been since their memories began; and now, as the boys turn into men, the girls are knowing, wise, and real to them in ways they are not yet to themselves.
All would tell you.
And on this patriotic night, this celebration of association, when people all around them are reveling in the sheer staggering luck of being born into the community they would most want to be part of—what are they feeling, these boys and girls? Not fear, not on a night like this, when together they could conquer invading intergalactic armies, with grace and ease they could defeat rock-blind, howling swamp men burning with destruction. Not fear, but the hope of an anchor. The need for each other's weight in the whirlwind. “You Are Here” marked on a mental map. One of the boys leaving in the morning, everyone else to stay. All have been told by men and women, older and more tired, that the marked spot shrinks to nothing, that no ballast can hold, that the buoy above the anchor disappears in the bobbling waves.
Not one of the seven believes it.
