I leaned against his hand until he was forced to move it. I stepped past him, into the room, still feeling his fingers there, and how he’d pushed hard at the last second. The door swung on silent hinges; the two old men crowded against the glass. Then she was before me, and I felt my resentment wither and die. None of that mattered.

Hospital light sucked the color out of her. Her chest rose and fell, with long pauses where I felt that none should be. Strands of blond hung across her cheek, and there was dried blood in the shell of her ear. I looked at Robin, whose face was closed.

I walked around the bed. Stitches pierced her lips. She had massive bruising, her eyes so swollen that they were barely open, just a glimmer of blue that looked too pale. Tape secured a tube to the back of her hand, which felt brittle when I took it. I tried to find some hint of her in those eyes, and when I said her name the slice of blue expanded minutely, and I knew that she was there. She stared at me for a long time.

“Adam?” she asked, and I heard all of the things I knew she felt, the subtle nuance of pain and loss.

“I’m here.”

She rolled her head away, not wanting me to see the tears that slipped, thick and silent, down her face. I straightened so that she could see me when she opened her eyes. It took her a while. Grantham shifted his feet. No one else moved.

She did not look at me again until the tears had ceased, but when our eyes met, I knew they would come again. The battle was there, in her face, and I watched helplessly as she lost it. She held up her arms and I leaned into them as the dam burst again; and she grasped me as she began to sob. Her body was hot and shaking; I put my arms around her as best as I could. I told her not to worry. I told her that everything would be okay. Then she leaned her mouth against my ear one more time and whispered something so quietly I could barely hear her.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I pulled away so she could see my face. I nodded because I had no words; then she pulled me back down and held me as the tremors racked her.

I looked up, and found my father’s face in the window. He rubbed a hand across his eyes and turned away, but not before I saw the palsy in his fingers. Dolf watched him go, and then shook his head, as if in great sadness.

I returned my attention to Grace, and tried with my arms to swallow her up. Eventually, she drifted back to whatever shelter her mind had made for itself. She never said another word, just rolled onto her side, and closed her eyes.

The cops got nothing.

Back in the hall, Grantham crowded me again. “I think that we need to step outside,” he said.

“Why?”

“You know why.” His hand settled around my arm. I jerked it away and he grabbed for it again.

“Just a minute now,” Dolf said.

Grantham got control of himself. “I told you not to piss me off,” he said.

“Come on, Adam,” Robin said. “Let’s go outside.”

“No.” It was all settling upon me: Grace’s lost innocence, the suspicions that dogged me, and the darkness that hung above my return to this place. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to know what she said.” Grantham stopped short of actually touching me. “She said something to you. I want it.”

“Is that true?” Robin asked. “Did she speak to you?”

“Don’t ask me, Robin. It’s not important.”

“If she said anything, we need to know what it is.”

I took in the faces around me. What Grace had said was for me, and I felt no need to share it. But Robin put her hand on my arm. “I have vouched for you, Adam. Do you understand what that means?”

I pushed lightly past her and looked in on Grace. She had curled into a ball, her back to the world outside. I still felt the hot slide of her tears as she’d pressed against me. I spoke to Grantham, but put my eyes on my father. I told them exactly what she said.

“She said that she was sorry.”

My father slumped.

“Sorry for what?” Grantham asked.

I’d told them the truth, exactly what she’d said; but interpreting that apology was not my problem. So, I offered an explanation that I knew he would accept, even though it was a lie.

“When we were at the river, she said that she hated me. I imagine that she was apologizing for that.”

He looked thoughtful. “That’s it?” he asked. “That’s all she said?”

“That’s it.”

Robin and Grantham looked at each other and there was a moment of unspoken communication between them. Then Robin spoke. “There are a few other things we’d like to discuss with you. Outside, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” I said, and turned for the exit. I took only two steps before I heard my father say my name. His hands were palms up, his face drawn down by the realization that Grace would be unlikely to embrace the man who’d so abused her. There was no forgiveness in my face as I met his eyes. He took half a step and said my name again, a question, a plea, and for a moment I thought about it; he was in pain, full of sudden regret and of the years that had marched so implacably between us.

“I don’t think so,” I said, and walked out.

I looked for Jamie as we hit the night air, and I saw him at the edge of the lot. He sat behind the wheel of a darkened truck. He took a swallow from a bottle and did not get out. An ambulance pulled in, lights off.

“I need a cigarette,” Grantham said, and walked off to find one.

We watched his back, and stood in the kind of awkward silence that troubled people know so well. I heard a horn, a light burst from Jamie’s truck. He pointed to his right, at the entrance to the emergency lot. I turned to see a long, black car slide through the narrow, concrete barrier and pull to a stop. The engine died. Two doors opened and they stepped out: Miriam, my sister, and a thickset man in black boots and a police uniform. They both saw me at the same time and stopped. Miriam looked startled and stayed by the car. The man with her grinned and came over.

“Adam,” he said, and took me by the hand, pumping it fiercely.

“George.”

George Tallman had been a hanger-on for as long as I could remember. He was a few years my junior, and had been much better friends with Danny than with me. I retrieved my hand and studied him. He was six feet two, maybe two ten, with thick, sandy hair and round, brown eyes. He was solid, not fat, and had a handshake he was proud of.

“The last time I saw you with a gun, George, you were drunk and trying to shoot beer cans off a stump with an air rifle.”

He glanced at Robin and his eyes narrowed. The smile fell off. “That was a long time ago, Adam.”

“He’s not really a cop,” Robin said.

For an instant George looked angry, but it passed. “I do school outreach,” he said. “Give presentations to the kids, talk about drugs.” He looked at Robin. “And I am a cop.” His voice remained even. “Bullets and everything.”

I heard tentative footsteps and turned to see Miriam. She looked pale in loose slacks and a long-sleeved shirt. She gave me a nervous smile, but her eyes were not without hope. She had matured, but did not look like her portrait. “Hello, Miriam,” I said.

“Hi, Adam.”

I gave her a hug, felt the bones of her. She squeezed back, but I could tell that doubt still troubled her. She and Gray Wilson had been good friends. My trial for his murder had cut her deeply. I gave her an extra squeeze, then let her go. The moment I stepped away, George filled the void. His arm settled across her shoulders and he pulled her against his side. This surprised me. He used to follow Miriam around like a barely tolerated puppy.

“We’re engaged,” he said.

I looked down, saw the ring on her hand: a small diamond in yellow gold. Five years, I reminded myself. Things change. “Congratulations,” I said.