All That Is Mine I Carry with Me

Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Contents Book 1 Book 2 Book 3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Book 4 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Other Titles About the Author Landmarks Cover Cover Title Page Contents Start Copyright Print Page List v vi 1 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 173 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 ii 323 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 All That Is Mine I Carry With Me is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
 Copyright © 2023 by William Landay
 All rights reserved.
 Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
 Bantam Books is a registered trademark and the B colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
 Hardback ISBN 9780345531841
 Ebook ISBN 9780345531858
 randomhousebooks.com
 Book design by Diane Hobbing, adapted for ebook
 Cover design: Carlos Beltrán
 Cover image: Linwood Estate, Stockbridge, Massachusetts. Barry Winiker/Getty images
 ep_prh_6.0_142781534_c0_r0
 
 
 
 Contents
 
 Cover
 Title Page
 Copyright
 
 
 Book 1
 
 
 Book 2
 
 
 Book 3
 
 Chapter 1
 
 
 Chapter 2
 
 
 
 Book 4
 
 Chapter 1
 
 
 Chapter 2
 
 
 
 By William Landay
 About the Author
 
 
 _142781534_
 
 
 
 BOOK 1
 
 
 
 
 After I finished writing my last novel, I fell into a long silence. You might call it writer’s block, but most writers don’t use that term or even understand it. When a writer goes quiet, nothing is blocking and nothing is being blocked. He is just empty. I don’t know why this silence settled over me. Now that it’s over, I don’t like to think about it. I only know that for months, then a year, then two years, I could not write. It did no good to struggle; the more I struggled, the tighter the noose became. I could not write, then I could not sleep, then I could not bear my own presence and I began to think dark thoughts. I won’t dwell on the details; in my profession, there is a saying that a writer’s troubles are of interest only to other writers. I mention my silent period here only because it is the reason I wrote this book, for it was during this time, when I would have grabbed at any plausible idea for a story, that I got an email from an old friend named Jeff Larkin.
 I have known Jeff since we were twelve years old. We met in September 1975 when we entered the seventh grade together at a very august and (to me) terrifying private school for boys, and we became pals almost immediately.
 Let me say, I am uneasy about starting a book this way, with friends and confessions about my childhood. I am not nostalgic for that time in my life. I’m not even sure an honest account is possible. I do not trust my own memories. I tell myself so many stories about my past, as we all do. Worse—much worse—I don’t think a writer ought to insert himself into his stories this way. It generally distracts more than it deepens. A writer’s place is offstage. But what choice do I have? If I am going to tell this story, there is no way around a little autobiography. So:
 When I was in sixth grade, my teacher called my parents, out of the blue, to suggest I was bored at school, which was certainly true. Had they considered sending me to a private school? Someplace rigorous and rules-y, where I would not continue to be (I will paraphrase here) a daydreamer and a smart-ass. My folks had never thought of it. They had both gone to public schools, and they presumed that fancy private schools were for Yankees. But Mom and Dad grasped the teacher’s essential meaning: what I needed was a swift kick in the pants.
 So the next fall I found myself at