“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought maybe y’all met at the party last night.”

“Nope.” Cotton shook Hutch’s hand.

“Hey, I’m Hutch.” He nodded toward me. “Old friend of Ellie’s from college.”

A low voice called Cotton’s name. We all turned to Micah Reynolds, who gave Cotton a bear hug, slapping him on the shoulder. “Good job, old friend. Well done.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Cotton placed his hand on my forearm. “I’d like you to meet my niece, Ellie Calvin, and her friend Hutch.”

Micah turned to me with his wide smile, reaching out with one strong arm and pulling me to his side. He squeezed me around the shoulders. “We’re already friends.”

“Hello, Mr. Reynolds, it’s good to see you again.”

“Call me Micah. Lilly’s daughter should call me Micah.”

Cotton shook his head. “You both are way ahead of me.”

Micah greeted Hutch as a young boy ran up, grabbing Micah’s hand. “Pops, they’re running out of hot dogs. Hurry.”

Micah leaned over and picked up this small child as if he were a stuffed animal, throwing him in the air to catch him. The boy burst into laughter and buried his head in his grandfather’s shoulder. Micah smiled at Cotton, Hutch, and me. “See y’all soon. It’s hot dog time.”

“You two are really good friends, aren’t you?” I asked Cotton as Micah walked away.

“Yep, we don’t see each other very often, but when you go through what we went through together, you’re friends for good.”

“But you made a difference. In the end y’all made a difference.”

“Yes, we did. It didn’t seem that way at the time.” He slung his backpack over his shoulder and lifted his sunglasses from his eyes; he held them between his thumb and forefinger, looking directly into my eyes. “Usually when you’re in the middle of something you can’t see your way. You think you aren’t making a difference or aren’t making progress when you really are. And that’s how it was for us. I thought we were doing more harm. When we saw our friends beaten and bloody, when they lost their jobs and scholarships, I thought we’d done more damage than good. But Micah—he knew it would make a difference and he didn’t care what it cost him.”

The escort coughed now. “Mr. Eddington, you have a line forming.”

Cotton replaced his glasses over his eyes and pulled a pen from his backpack. “Off to sign,” he said. “I’ll find you over there when I’m done.” He pointed to the bench.

“Perfect.” I paused before I asked, “What you said up there—about just knowing when something is done.”

“Yeah?”

“Is that true? I mean, you just really know when something is done? Without planning on it being done?”