It was a message from Lena: Dinner next week?

No courtroom talk allowed.

I replied: Only if you promise not to tell the story about me falling asleep in the supply tent.

She sent a laughing face and wrote: No promises.

For once, the future felt less like a list of things to defend and more like a set of ordinary invitations I was free to accept.

PART 20

The volunteer dinner took place in a church hall on a cold November evening.