Mason Ocampo arrived at about nine, late, straight from a job, in a clean shirt he had clearly put on in his truck.

I heard him come up the stairs and I heard Logan meet him on the landing, and what I heard in the next four minutes is the reason I was able to sit at my kitchen table at one in the morning and ask a calm question instead of throwing something.

“You’re going to have to catch me up,” Mason said.

“Because your sister just texted me from the bathroom.”