And I would do almost anything, standing in that courtroom, to reach through the glass and tell that boy: put it down.

You can put it down now.

That’s my job.

I’ve got it.

I turn back to the bench, and I tell Judge Harmon the reason I never wrote on any form.

Chapter 7 — Highway 9

“Your Honor,” I say, and have to stop and clear my throat, because my voice has gone rough.

“Twenty-two years ago, there was a car accident on Highway 9.