On one side I wrote what I knew from documents or longstanding recollections.

On the other I wrote questions, feelings, and newly recalled impressions.

It kept me honest with investigators and, more importantly, with myself.

One Sunday, Wyatt found me studying that notebook at the kitchen table.

“Do you ever stop thinking about it?” he asked.

“Not lately.”

He sat opposite me.

“I’ve started seeing a counselor at school.”