As we hit Route 3, Susan turned to me and said, “How did it go?”

“Vinnie is perturbed.”

“Vinnie will get over it.”

“Not this time.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I think we all got played a little,” I said. “Some more than others.”

“Z said you believe Harvey Rose was aware Jemma Fraser would destroy the Weinbergs the whole time.”

I nodded.

“That’s very confident.”

“Not if you know the odds,” I said.

“And Rose walks?”

“Yep.”

“Hands clean.”

“You tell me,” I said.

“Do you think Harvey Rose is a sociopath?”

“I think Harvey Rose is an interesting addition to the Boston ecosystem.”

“And perhaps a system now minus Gino Fish.”

“Charges of bribery won’t harm Gino Fish,” I said. “It will only enhance his reputation.”

Susan nodded. I turned to look at her on a straightaway. Her black hair was down and flowed loose and very thick. She wore a black cotton dress and leather flats, a thin gold chain around her neck.

In the backseat, Pearl’s collar jingled as she reached with a hind leg to scratch her ear. Gold afternoon light filled the car as I placed my right hand on Susan’s. She leaned in to my shoulder, and I could feel a familiar swelling in my chest. We were quiet all the way to the Sagamore Bridge. Crossing the canal, I had hope for a great many things, and tried not to dwell on things I could not change. I thought about Z and wished the same for him.

“Together again,” Susan said.

I nodded and drove, the road open and wide across the bridge.

•  •  •

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