“Zane,” my father said, speaking slowly with long pauses between his words.

“That’s a mighty serious thing to claim in a church hall.”

“I’m doing what a husband has to do to protect his home, Bob,” Zane said.

He wouldn’t meet my father’s eyes.

He took his coat off the peg and walked out toward the double doors without a backward glance at me.

By two o’clock Monday afternoon, low gray clouds hung over the Oak Creek Public Library.

I went into the little staff break room in the basement and put my canvas bag on the counter.