I had pictured the truth sorting us cleanly into innocent people and guilty ones.

Instead it had made every one of us painfully human.

“Come on in,” I said.

“The coffee’s going cold.”

He got up slowly, not sure what to do with his hands.

At the kitchen door he paused and wiped his boots twice, though they were already clean.

I pulled the third chair up to the table.

It had spent years in the pantry under folded tablecloths.