The Good Father
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From the author of the New York Times bestseller Before the Fall, an intense, psychological novel about one doctor's suspense-filled quest to unlock the mind of a suspected political assassin: his twenty-year old son.
As a rheumatologist, Dr. Paul Allen's specialty is diagnosing patients other doctors have given up on. His son, Daniel Allen has always been a good kid but, as a child of divorce, he is also something of a drifter. Which may be why, at the age of nineteen, he quietly drops out of Vassar and begins an aimless journey across the United States, shedding his former skin and eventually even changing his name. One night, Paul is home with his family when a televised news report announces that the Democratic candidate for president has been shot, and Daniel is the lead suspect. Convinced of his son’s innocence Paul begins to trace his sons steps to see where Daniel, or perhaps Paul, went wrong, beginning a harrowing journey--about the responsibilities of being a parent and the capacity for unconditional love in the face of an unthinkable situation—that keeps one guessing until the very end.
fallen across her shoulders. He remembered the white pants. Every place he visited disappeared as soon as he left. He had a hard time believing there was still a place called Austin in a state called Texas, where women in bikinis swam year-round in water that was always sixty-eight degrees. To that end, was there still a place called New York or Connecticut? He read about them in the paper, when he read the paper, which was almost never. They must still exist, but he couldn’t really picture that
my sleep, sitting up at the Austin airport. They would describe me as father of convicted assassin Daniel Allen. Or would he take me in his arms and squeeze the life from my lungs, two strangers wrestling like lovers in an empty washroom? Even as the thought occurred to me I pushed it aside. I said, “You want me to believe that it’s a coincidence that Cobb had sniper training and you were special ops? You want me to believe that you and my son talked about the weather, or maybe if the Mets were
his prayer. The ocean. He was a man in a mosque, bowing toward Mecca, readying himself for the mission to come. As soon as it had come, the relaxation he had felt disappeared under a wave of intestinal urgency. His system, unused to food in such quantities, had decided to rebel. He hurried back to the street, ducked into a taco restaurant, locking the bathroom door behind him. He voided his breakfast in seven great surges, enduring the pounding of other patrons. Outside he felt light-headed. The
thing like this happen?” “There were gaps in the pre-event screening.” “Gaps.” “Errors.” “Have the agents responsible been disciplined?” “Senator, if I may, the task of protecting a presidential candidate is substantially more complicated than protecting the president. Candidates want to maintain a Secret Service invisibility. They don’t want a wall between them and the voters. In addition, events are often scheduled at the last minute, giving advance teams no time to secure the site.”
one and a half semesters. He stated that he had a “hard time focusing” on his curriculum at college. “It just didn’t feel that important, you know?” he said. When asked if he had made friends, subject stated that he’d made a few, but “no one I felt really close to.” He stated that he “hadn’t had many friends in high school, either.” When asked why he thought that was, subject stated, “I don’t really like to talk about myself. I guess that’s a big part of friendship, but I just don’t like telling