Page 13

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE KELLERS

They pull up to the modest home in San Jose. Even in the dark she can tell the yard is in need of care, and the house seems dated for the high-end neighborhood. Keller thought New York housing costs were out of control, but they’re nothing compared with the Bay Area, where professionals are often forced to live in group homes or even on houseboats. Bob claims it wasn’t always that way. At one time, this was a solid working-class neighborhood where kids played in the street and his parents—both musicians—held big parties for the neighbors, who got a kick out of their unconventional lifestyle. They bought the place for a song. Now the cheapest homes on the block sell for $1.5 mil.

Keller appraises her husband. It’s only nine at night, but he looks tired, drained. Sure, it’s three hours later in New York and it’s exhausting traveling with kids. But that’s not it.

“Are you okay?” she asks, watching him stare at the house like memories are flooding his system.

Bob smiles, but it’s empty. “Who, me?”

“The nurse warned us that he looks quite different,” Keller says, preparing him.

Bob’s father has cancer. The meds he’s on swell and disfigure the face. The nurse had offered to Zoom them to prepare Bob—and the kids—but Bob’s father refused.

“I’m ready,” Bob says.

She knows he’s not.

Bob twists around to the back seat, where Michael and Heather are out cold. “Maybe I should go in and check things out before they…”

“I’ve already talked to them about their grandpa,” Keller says. “They’ll be fine.”

Normally, Bob is the sunlight they all bask in. She hasn’t seen him down like this since his old dog died.

“Thank you,” is all he says.

“For what?”

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”

When they got word that Bob’s dad had less than a year to live, Keller applied for a “hardship” transfer—a temporary placement at the Bureau’s San Jose office. The resident office, a satellite of the San Francisco field office, doesn’t handle many financial-crimes investigations—her specialty in New York—so she’ll be doing whatever shit work no one else wants. Keller has received some notoriety as an agent at different points in her career, including solving the infamous Blockbuster-video murders. Keller’s former boss and mentor—who’s now the deputy director—pulled some strings to get her approved for the hardship. He warned that there was some grumbling about special treatment.

“With ‘fame’”—it had been a phone call but she could hear the air quotes in Stan’s voice—“comes resentment and jealousy.”

To his credit, Stan, a buttoned-up man who thinks FBI agents should be invisible to the public, never held her passing fame against her. And the agents are right to gripe—she did get special treatment. Stan also warned her that a transfer at this point in her career could change the trajectory of her rising star. But she had no choice: Bob needs her, for a change.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Keller says. “I want to spend time with your dad. I want the kids to spend time with him.”

“I suppose it will be good for the twins to learn about the origin story of this cool slab of sexy,” Bob says, puffing out his chest.

Inside, Bob’s father sits in a lounge chair. He starts to get up but Keller rushes over to help him back into the seat. Though they’ve been warned about his appearance, it’s still a shock. Once heavyset like Bob, he’s frail. His swollen face is nearly unrecognizable. But, bless the twins, they rush over, not missing a beat, and chant “Grandpa!”

Keller steals a look at Bob. He’s got his poker face on, but she knows him. It’s hitting him hard.

“Hey, Pops!” Bob says.

“Bobby!” Pops beams. He’s been living alone since Ruth died, before the twins were born.

“You keeping my boy outta trouble?” Pops asks Keller. He’s insisted on Keller also calling him Pops since the first day Bob brought her home.

“I’m trying.”

“Grandpa, wanna see my drawing?” Michael says, yanking off his backpack to find his sketch pad.

“You bet I do.”

Keller reminds the kids to give Grandpa some space. She and Bob lug the suitcases to the basement. Bob’s childhood bedroom.

Bob is purposely averting his gaze. He’s the most enlightened man she’s ever met, but he’s weirdly macho about anyone seeing him cry.

Keller looks about the room. The walls are covered with posters: Pearl Jam, Joan Jett, Alice in Chains, Blondie. An eclectic mix of artists, including many Keller has never heard of. A mixing board and an elaborate sound system occupy a large table in the back next to shelves and shelves of vinyl records. Before he took a break from his career to stay home with the kids, Bob was a sound engineer at a recording studio. Between the musicians’ unorthodox hours and Keller’s unpredictable travel schedule, he gave it up for the family. At the time he said, “No one gives a second thought when a woman gives up her career to stay home with the kids, so why do people keep asking if I’m okay?”

“You think your equipment will be safe with the kids?” Keller asks. The twins will be sharing this room for now. Getting the hardship detail was difficult enough, finding affordable temporary housing impossible. So they’ll be staying with Pops. Just as well. He looks like he may need around-the-clock care soon.

Bob doesn’t respond. His back is to her. He opens the lid to the record player.

“You okay?” Keller asks again.

He doesn’t turn around.

“Come here,” she says. When he doesn’t move, she pulls on his shoulder, forcing him to face her. Tears fill his eyes and she takes him in her arms.

Before she finds the right words, the twins bounce into the room. Bob turns away again. Wipes his face with his shirt.

“This is our room?” Heather says.

“Cooool,” Michael adds.

Bob turns back. A big smile now. “Wanna know the best part?”

“What…?” the kids say together with wonder.

Bob removes a black vinyl disc from a sleeve and puts it on the record player. The familiar grainy sound of the needle comes through the large speakers. Then, over the opening guitar riff to AC/DC’s “Back in Black,” Bob—holding an imaginary instrument—shouts, “Air guitar contest!”

The four of them strum imaginary Gibson SGs and Bob does his funny Angus Young duckwalk, and then he lifts the kids one at a time and spins them around and around as they shriek with delight.

And in that moment, Keller nearly loses it herself.