Dad grabs my arms with surprising strength. “No matter what happens in that courtroom, remember this. What matters is you, not me. You and Annie. Jenny, too. But here, now, alone, I’m going to tell you something, and you don’t ever forget it. You are me. You hear?” Dad shakes me bodily, his eyes burning into mine. “The older I get, the more I see myself in you. Do you know how that feels? To look at the man you’ve become, and know I had a part in that? To know I didn’t survive that war for nothing? Long after I’m gone, you’ll be here, and I’ll be alive in you. And in Annie.” A smile lights his whole face. “That girl’s a Cage through and through.”

Hot tears slide down my cheeks. I’ve been preparing for my father’s death for a long time, but to see life and death as he does now . . . it’s more than I can take.

“And Lincoln?” I ask softly. “He’s your son, too.”

Dad winces as though from physical pain. “Lincoln has my genes, yes. But I had nothing to do with shaping him. And all the regret I feel doesn’t help him one iota. From what Viola told me, the father Lincoln had was worse than none at all. But let’s not dwell on what we can’t change.”

“And Mom? What about her?”

“There’s no time, Penn. But however rough this seems on her . . . this is the bargain Peggy made. I let her down with Viola, God knows, but Peggy fell short, too—in her own eyes, I mean. But I stayed, and to Peggy that’s what counts. You hear me? To her people, children are what matter—period. You do what’s necessary to protect the next generation. Your mother may not know exactly why I’m doing this, but she knows I’ve got my priorities straight. And she has enough faith in me to let me do it.”

“She doesn’t let you see how hard it is on her.”

“I know, believe me. But she can take it.”

Jesus, the hardness of their generation. “I’m not so sure. If you’re convicted . . . she might do something desperate.”

Dad actually smiles at this. “Not a chance, boy. Don’t give that another thought.”

“Time to go, Doc!” cries the deputy, holding open the door.

As he turns to shoo away some rubberneckers in the hall, I force my cell phone into Dad’s hand. “Doris and Quentin are waiting for your call. Tell Quentin it’s over. Let me defend you, Dad.”

He pushes away the phone. “It’s too late, Penn. I’m sticking with Quentin. We’ll take the hill together or go down fighting.”

“But he’s not fighting.”