“You’re Eric. I know you are. I just wanted you to know that…” She began to cry. I stared at her, unwilling to offer sympathy. Her voice pitched. “…My baby wanted you. When the ambulance came for her, she asked for you. Your name was the last thing she said.”

I just looked at her as she wiped her eyes with a crumpled tissue.

“Thank you for being there for her.”

“If I was there for her we wouldn’t be here,” I said. I turned and walked away.

CHAPTER Thirty-eight

To truly forgive is to accept our own part of each failure.

GRACE’S DIARY

God flooded Noah’s world so why couldn’t he have cleansed the earth again? I knew enough theology to remember that a baptism by water is followed by a baptism by fire. Fire seemed appropriate. That coward Khrushchev had missed his calling.

My parents, Joel, and I walked into the house without a word. I was done with my family. I had enough money to make it to Denver to see Grace’s aunt. And then who knew. The truth is I didn’t care where I went. I spent far less time thinking about where I was going than what I was leaving.

My mother followed me to my room. “Eric.” She tried to put her arms around me but I pulled away.

“Stay away from me.”

“Eric. You have to talk about this.”

“I don’t talk to murderers.”

“Murderers?”

“You killed her. You and Dad and Joel and her pathetic, worthless mother and those stupid, idiotic policemen who just couldn’t wait to be heroes. I told you they would hurt her and you made me tell them. You killed Grace. You all killed Grace. I hate you. I hate all of you. You should have died, not her.”

My mother was stunned, but her gaze was still full of compassion. “No, Eric. We didn’t kill her.”

“You and the police and Joel…you all killed her.”

“Eric, her stepfather killed her.”

Then, I fell against the wall, sobbing uncontrollably. “No,” I said. “I killed her. I told you where she was. She’d still be alive if it wasn’t for me.”

My mother put her hands on my shoulders and turned me toward her. Tears were running down her face. Her voice was strong but loving. “Eric, listen to me. We didn’t kill her. You didn’t kill her. A very bad very sick man killed her, not you. You tried to protect her. But you’re only fourteen. It was too big for you. You did the best you could. You loved her and she loved you.”

“She’ll never forgive me,” I said. “She shouldn’t forgive me.” My knees buckled and I fell to the ground.

My mother crouched down, holding me. “Eric, sometimes horrible, unspeakable things happen in life. What happened was wrong. But it’s not your fault.”