“No, sir, I won’t.” Justin ate some more of his sandwich. He touched his bruised cheek a couple of times. I was sure it was pretty sore.

Trying to appear calm, I was stewing inside. I’m not normally a violent man—far from it—but violence against children makes me furious. My father had been, like Ezra Wardlaw, a devout Evangelical. Stern, demanding, but he never once raised his hand against me. I tried his patience often enough, but his firm and loving discipline taught me what I needed to know. I felt the back of my mother’s hairbrush on my bottom a few times, but she never struck hard enough even to bruise me.

Justin cleared his throat. “Um, guess I should explain why I said he isn’t my father.” He pushed some potato chips around on his plate. “Not my biological father anyway. But Mom is really my mother.” He watched my face carefully for a reaction.

Feigning surprise at this point would be ridiculous. Justin deserved the truth.

“I know,” I said. “Your biological father came to see me this morning.”

“You know him? I suppose you would, you and him both being from Athena.” Justin tried to appear nonchalant, but his curiosity was obvious.

“We grew up together. Same class in school and at the college, too.”

“That’s cool.” Justin ate in silence for a couple of minutes.

I could have volunteered information, but I thought it was better to let Justin ask me what he wanted to know. I’d have to be diplomatic, though. I didn’t want to tell the boy his biological dad was a jerk, in my opinion.

Finished with my first sandwich, I started on the second one after a sip of my drink. By this time Diesel had come back. He crawled into the chair opposite mine and sat, looking back and forth between Justin and me.

“It’s so funny how he does that.” Justin laughed. “Do you ever let him eat at the table?”

“No, because he doesn’t get people food very often.” I arched an eyebrow at my boarder. “Remember?”

Justin nodded, a guilty expression flashing across his face. “Yes, sir, I promise I won’t do it again unless you say I can.”

“Thank you.”

Diesel trilled a few times.

“Yes, we’re talking about you,” I said. “And don’t think you can con any ham or potato chips out of me or Justin.”

If cats could frown, I’d swear Diesel frowned at me then.

Justin snickered. After drinking some of his Coke, he set the can down and looked at me. “What’s he like? Godfrey Priest, I mean. I’ve, like, seen him on TV, and I even read some of his books. But I don’t know much about him.”