It is one thing to love someone enough to fight for them.

It is another thing entirely to love them enough to let them think less of you for twenty years, so that the fight can be won on the far side of your own grave.

Chapter 13 — The Porch

I took the documents and drove straight back to Mama’s house.

I did the drive without the radio on, the blue folder on the seat where the flour tin had ridden into town.

Somewhere on the highway I had expected the anger to arrive — the big, clean, righteous anger a person is owed after learning a thing like this.