“There’s still plenty of that ham Azalea baked. I think I’ll make some sandwiches.” I turned to face the table. “How about you, Justin? I make a pretty good ham sandwich.”

Justin’s head dipped down for a moment. He rubbed Diesel’s head. “That sounds good. But I can make my own.”

“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll slice the ham, and you can get everything else together. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Justin said. Diesel jumped down from his lap and padded off in search of his own lunch.

Justin came to the sink and washed his hands, still avoiding looking directly at me.

I set the plated ham on the counter, found a knife, and started carving thick slices. Azalea cooked a mighty fine ham, and my mouth was already watering.

Justin retrieved mustard and mayo from the fridge, along with a jar of Azalea’s homemade pickles. He set it all on the table, along with the bread and a big bag of potato chips. Next he found plates and knives, along with napkins, and arranged them.

“Would you get me a can of Diet Coke?” I asked.

Justin went back to the refrigerator, pulling out my Diet Coke and a can of regular for him.

He sat down at the table, waiting for me to finish. I had sliced enough ham for four or five sandwiches, I figured. That should do.

I brought the ham to the table and sat down, cater-corner from Justin. He held out the loaf of bread to me, and I took four slices. “I don’t know about you, but I’m betting I can eat at least two sandwiches.”

“I’m kinda hungry too.” He seemed surprised that he had an appetite. He waited while I helped myself to the mayo and mustard before making his first sandwich.

I poured some chips onto my plate, watching as Justin carefully spread a thick layer of mayo on two slices of wheat bread.

He still wouldn’t look at me.

“I want you to know, son,” I said, “that you can talk to me, if you want to. I’ll help you any way I can, and Diesel will, too.”

Justin smiled at that and looked me in the face finally. “Thank you, Mr. Charlie. I appreciate that.” He took a bite of his sandwich and winced. When he finished chewing—slowly—he spoke again.

“I’m glad you came home when you did.” He paused for a moment. His gaze shifted away. “He would’ve beat the crap out of me if you hadn’t.”

My stomach clenched in anger. “Has he beaten you before?”

Justin nodded. “Yes, sir. He doesn’t like it when I defy him.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that my heart ached for him. “You don’t have to put up with that anymore. Don’t let him in the house when I’m not here.”