Then Danny caught a glimpse of Abby near the front lobby-her silvery metallic fringed scarf, then her face. Smiling, which surprised him. He couldn’t remember when he’d last seen her smile. She was walking arm in arm with her new BFF, Jenna Galvin.
Jenna Galvin seemed to be Abby’s polar opposite: She was small and dark-haired and chubby, where Abby was slender and graceful and blond. Jenna seemed sour, aloof, even arrogant, whereas Abby was sweet-natured and sociable. Or had been, anyway, until six months ago. Jenna had just transferred to Lyman as a junior, which was unusually late to start a new school, and had apparently been an outcast there. Abby, empathic as ever, and maybe also a bit rebellious, had felt bad for the new girl and befriended her. Now they were inseparable.
Abby’s face lit up when she saw her father, which was disorienting-was she smiling at someone else? She maneuvered nimbly through the teeming horde of girls and threw her arms around him.
First uncoerced hug in eleven months, Danny thought. But who’s counting?
“Oh my God, Daddy, thank you!”
For what? he wanted to say.
She hugged him even harder. He still hadn’t gotten used to how tall she’d grown. “Thank you thank you thank you. I just saw my name on the Italy trip list. I knew you’d let me go. You are so awesome.”
“Abby, honey-”
Jenna touched her arm. “My dad’s here, come on.” A sleek silver-haired man in an expensive-looking camel-colored suit entered the lobby and gave Jenna a kiss.
“Abby, wait-what are you talking about?” Danny said.
But Abby didn’t hear him. She’d turned around and was talking to Jenna. Abby said, “I know, right?” before turning back to her father.
“Daddy, is it okay if I go home with Jenna?”
He felt a flash of irritation. She never seemed to want to spend time at home. But he said only, “Well, I don’t know. I’d rather not have to drive out to Weston to pick you up.”
“Esteban will take her home,” Jenna said.
Esteban was the Galvins’ driver. Jenna’s father was some kind of investor and had a lot of money, even by Lyman standards.
“Abby,” Danny said, but then someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned.
The silver-haired man. Thomas Galvin.
He appeared to be in his late forties. His blue-gray eyes were like steel against his deep tan. His suit was exquisitely cut, his pale blue shirt perfectly pressed, his tie neatly knotted. Everything in place. Danny’s crappy sport coat, which he’d bought off the discount rack at the Men’s Wearhouse Black Friday sale, felt itchy.
“Just wanted to introduce myself,” the man said, offering his hand. “Tom Galvin.”
“Dan Goodman.”
Abby was already out the front door with Jenna.
“Nice to meet Abby’s dad. She’s terrific.”
“Most of the time,” Danny said with a grin.
“Jenna couldn’t ask for a better friend.”
“Well, it’s great to meet you, too.”
“Listen, thanks for letting me kick in on that Italy thing.” He had the accent of a kid out of Southie.
“Kick in?”
“Abby has been a lifesaver for our Jenna. You have no idea.”
“Hold on a second. You paid for Abby’s trip to Italy?”
“For totally selfish reasons, trust me.” He lowered his voice to a confidential mutter. “This is Jenna’s fourth school in three years. She was already begging to leave until she started hanging out with Abby. And she sure as hell doesn’t want to go with the class to Italy if Abby’s not going.”
Danny’s cheeks grew hot. He was astonished, and embarrassed. And angry, though he rarely let anyone see his anger.
How much had Abby told her friend? She couldn’t possibly know how bad their financial situation was, but she must have said something. This was beyond embarrassing; it was demeaning. This rich guy was treating them like a charity case.
“That’s extremely generous of you,” he said, “but I can’t accept it.”
“Please. It’s for my daughter.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll call the bursar and set them straight. But I really do appreciate the thought.” He smiled, then turned and pushed through the front doors.
The sun dazzled his eyes. A gleaming black Maybach limousine was parked at the curb. It had to belong to Galvin. A man in a uniform of black suit, white shirt, and black tie approached Abby and Jenna with a cardboard Starbucks take-out tray and handed them each a cup. Galvin’s chauffeur must have gone on a Starbucks run.
“Thanks, Esteban,” Abby said. She turned as Danny emerged, beaming excitedly, her eyes shining. “Everything okay, Daddy?”
He beckoned her over. “Boogie,” he began quietly, using the pet name he never used around anyone else.
“Oh God, I’m so so so excited,” she interrupted. Then followed a torrent of words-pasta and gelato and shopping-that Danny couldn’t quite follow. She grabbed both of his elbows. “I’m going to Italy!” she almost sang.
He hadn’t seen her this happy in years. Dimples had appeared on her cheeks, her smile so wide it looked like her face might crack in two.
Now what? Tell her there’d been a mix-up?
Danny had once made the mistake of opening a link a friend had sent him. It was something called a crush video. It showed a woman stepping on a tiny kitten with her stiletto heels. It was one of the sickest, most disturbing things he’d ever seen, and he wished he could unsee it.
Telling Abby the Italy trip wasn’t going to happen would feel a bit like that.
“Dan,” Galvin said by way of greeting as he came out the front door, lowering his BlackBerry.
Danny approached and said, in a low voice, “I can only accept this if you’ll let me pay you back.”
Galvin’s eyebrows shot up. He nodded solemnly. “If you don’t, I’ll send my goons after you.” He gave Danny a wry smile.
“I mean, no offense, but it’s a little awkward. We don’t even know each other.”
“Which is crazy, right? Given how close Abby and Jenna are? Listen, come over for dinner tomorrow night, wouldja? The boys are home from college, and they love Abby, and Celina is making her famous arroz con pollo.”
What could he say? The guy was shelling out for his daughter’s trip to Italy. Dinner with his family was the least he could do.
Much later, he’d replay that moment over and over again in his head.
He thrust out his hand and smiled. “Sounds great,” he said. “Thanks a lot.”
3
When Danny opened the door of the two-bedroom on Marlborough Street, he was greeted by the loud thumping of a dog’s tail against the floor. Rex, their arthritic chocolate Lab, struggled to get up from his bed near the kitchen.
“That’s okay, buddy, no need to get up for my sake,” he said, coaxing Rex back down onto the plaid dog bed, stroking his graying coat, massaging his haunches. Rex was thirteen years old, which was old for the breed. His muzzle had gone silver, his amber eyes clouded with an opaque cataract haze. He’d belonged to Sarah, went with her after the divorce, and then had moved in with Abby. The old boy, profligate with affection, had heroically gotten Abby through her mother’s death.
The red message light on Danny’s phone was blinking.
Eight voice mails. Seven from one particularly odious and persistent collections agent named Tony Santangelo of Asset Recovery Solutions, who seemed to have trained at the Bada Bing school of debt collection. His “solution” was to “garnish” Danny’s wages.