“What happened back there, Penn? Is Elder going to let him do it?”

“They’re not done. Rusty . . . Dad fired me.”

“What? Jesus.”

“Is my mom okay?”

“I think so, but Drew’s taking her to the hospital. He’s worried she may be having a stroke. A real one this time. I think she was just overwhelmed. To have that happen after days of sitting there . . . it was more than she could take. More than any wife could take.”

“Rusty, what do I do?”

He shakes his head, as much at a loss as I am. “I think it’s up to the judge now. The judge and Quentin and Shad. But for God’s sake, if your dad’s going to plead guilty, it should be to a lesser charge. Shad would have to go for it. That jury was about to set Tom free, no question.”

“I don’t think Dad cares about the sentence. He’s trying to punish himself. And his health is so bad, anything over a year is a death sentence.”

Rusty takes hold of my shoulders and squeezes hard, like he once did after high school football games, and I flinch from pain on my right side.

“Sorry,” he says. “Let’s sit down over here in front of the jury box. We’ll wait and talk it out. Quentin won’t let your dad do anything stupid.”

“But my mother—”

“Drew’s taking care of Peggy. Come sit down, buddy. You look like you might faint yourself.”

Five minutes later, the door to Judge Elder’s chambers opens and Quentin’s wheelchair emerges, followed by Doris Avery. When Quentin sees me sitting with Rusty, he doesn’t try to avoid us but steers directly toward me. I lean forward, my heart pounding heavily.

“What happened?” I ask as he rolls to within a couple of feet of me.

Quentin takes a deep breath and says, “This is hard, Penn. Please don’t interrupt until I’ve explained the whole thing.”

“Come on, Quentin!”

“Your father was going to plead guilty no matter what I did. There was nothing I could do to stop him. And Judge Elder was inclined to allow it.”

“You can’t be serious—”

“Let me finish, goddamn it. Tom was trying to plead guilty to murder, but I told Joe Elder I’d quit on the spot if he allowed that. Then I told Shad Tom would only plead guilty to a lesser charge. Shad asked what charge I had in mind. I said physician-assisted suicide. The penalty would be loss of Tom’s medical license and time served.”

“Oh, Quentin . . . thank God.”

“You are the man,” Rusty exults.

Quentin grimaces and holds up his right hand. “Shad wouldn’t agree to that, I’m sorry to say. He said manslaughter was as low as he could go.”

“Same penalty, though, right? Or a suspended sentence?”