Down the corridor I saw Mrs. Spindel sitting in a chair. I flashed to the first time I had seen her when I dropped Spoon off at his house a few weeks ago. She had greeted her son at the door with such pure joy. Her entire face had lit up as she hugged him. Now it was like someone had extinguished that light. Her cheeks were sunken. Her hair seemed grayer.

Mrs. Spindel gave me a baleful look. The last time I was here, she had told me in no uncertain terms that what happened to her beloved son was my fault. Clearly her opinion had not changed.

“My wife doesn’t think this is a good idea,” Mr. Spindel explained.

There was no need to comment on that.

We approached a big door.

“I’ll wait out here,” Mr. Spindel said. “You two go in.”

I pushed the heavy door open slowly. Spoon was sitting up in bed. There were tubes and machines and beeping noises. He looked tiny in that big hospital bed, this little skinny kid with the big glasses lost among all this horror.

When Spoon saw us, his face broke into a huge smile. For a second everything else in the room disappeared. There was just that big smile on the face of that tiny, doofy kid.

“Did you know,” Spoon began, “that Babe Ruth wore a cabbage leaf under his baseball cap?”

Ema and I just stood there.

“For real,” Spoon went on. “He’d wet it on hot days and it kept him cool. He changed it every two innings.”

I couldn’t help it. I lost it. I ran over to him and tried so hard not to cry. I’m not a crier by nature. But as I rushed over to Spoon, as I swept him as gently as I could into my arms, I could feel the tears push through my eyelids.

“Mickey?” Spoon said tentatively. “What the . . .”

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to hold it. I needed to be strong right now. I needed to be strong for Spoon. I was his big, tough friend. I remembered on the very first day we met how he’d said that I was Shrek to his Donkey. I was his protector.

And I had failed him.

It was no use. I started sobbing.

Spoon said, “Mickey?”

“I’m so sorry,” I said through the sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

I just shook my head and held on to him.

“For what?” Spoon asked again. “You didn’t shoot me, did you?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. So what are you sorry about?”

I let him go. I checked his face to see if he was just playing with me, but he looked genuinely baffled.

“It’s still my fault,” I said.

Spoon frowned. “How on earth do you figure that?”

“Are you serious?”