We took out a few crackers and we ate for a moment. As hungry as I was, the food brought no pleasure. I felt heavy with fear and sorrow. And I knew what these feelings meant. I remembered well the distant look on Tuck’s face.

“What happened to Abel’s girlfriend and their son wasn’t your fault. Neither was your uncle’s death. Evil men with guns are to blame for that.”

Maybe Tuck’s feelings for me weren’t as big as his need for atonement. Maybe he’d decide his place wasn’t with me and my parents. But even so, even if he chose to go out into the world and fight for others, I wanted him to find a way to let go of the guilt he carried, because it killed me to see him hurting and trying with all his might to find forgiveness from those who weren’t alive to extend it. An impossible task. And too painful for any one person to bear.

He sighed. “They had no one to protect them, Emily. I’m talking about Cherie and Abel Jr. If Abel hadn’t died that day, he’d have been there to protect them.”

“If, Tuck. If. That’s a losing game and you know it. Everyone made choices that day, and the days preceding it. The what-if game isn’t going to bring anyone back. What if Abel had decided that staying home and taking care of his pregnant girlfriend was more important than committing a crime that might get him thrown in jail? Or killed? What if he’d decided to go out and get a job instead of robbing a store?”

“Stop, Em. He was desperate.”

“His desperation and his choices weren’t your fault. You didn’t owe him anything.”

“You’re being judgmental.”

“Sure, I am,” I said. “That’s what the what-if game is all about. You have to judge every choice made—fair or not, reasonable or not—if you’re going to play.”

He looked away and ran his hand through his hair.

“Aren’t you even a little bit mad at him, Tuck? Aren’t you angry that Abel put you in the position he did? Even despite being young and desperate. He asked you for a ride and didn’t tell you he was going to commit a crime. He set you up, Tuck, whether he thought about that or not.”

Something passed over his face, a discomfort that let me know I’d come somewhere close to the truth whether Tuck was willing to admit that yet or not. Or maybe his anger at Abel helped fuel his guilt. God, he was carrying so much. “What he did wasn’t right,” he said. “But I can only judge what I did that day. Only me.”