“I went to find help,” he said.

“I knocked on the front door first.

A lot of times.” “Why didn’t you just stay on the porch, like I said?” Arthur demanded, and there was something almost pleading in it now, as though he needed my son to supply him with an excuse.

And Lucas turned his head and looked at him, and gave the answer that cut through that whole hallway like a blade, the answer that was the truest and most damning thing said that entire night: “Because nobody would open the door for me.” There was no accusation in the way he said it.

That is what made it unbearable.