“I don’t care. Shad hates you. And given what he knows you could do to him with that photo, I’m stunned that he’s gone as far as he has with this. There’s something going on that we’re not seeing.”

A fleeting image of Lincoln Turner’s burning eyes flashes through my mind. I’m glad I didn’t tell Caitlin about his impromptu visit outside.

“Da-ad!” Annie yells.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Caitlin says, trotting down the stairs and leaving me feeling like a fool standing at the head of them.

SUPPER IS IN OUR bellies, the dishes are in the sink, and the three of us were sitting comfortably around the oak table by the large kitchen window until I gave Annie a PG-13 summary of Dad’s problems and Caitlin broke the news about postponing the wedding. My daughter is far from the “fine” state that Caitlin predicted, but it’s her grandfather she’s worried about.

“So did Papa do something wrong, or not?” she asks, her chin quivering. “What do you mean by laws on the books?”

In the matter of assisted suicide, she seems to be having trouble with the idea that written laws don’t always ideally reflect right and wrong.

“Well,” I temporize, thinking how the simplest things can sometimes be the most difficult to explain, “laws are legislated by men and then recorded in books. But—”

“By men and women,” Caitlin interjects.

“That’s right. But those laws don’t always stay the same. We’ve talked before about how the Supreme Court changes laws from time to time, on things like capital punishment. Remember?”

Annie nods.

“Well, Congress sometimes changes the laws, as well. Back in the 1920s, they made it illegal for anyone to drink alcohol. Then they repealed that law in 1933. So, written laws aren’t always permanent. And they’re not perfect expressions of what’s right and wrong.”

“That’s where I’m confused.”

“At one time it was illegal for women to vote,” Caitlin says. “Does that seem right to you?”

“No way. But what does that have to do with Papa?”

“Have you heard the word euthanasia?”

“Sure. Mrs. Bryant talked about it in school. She talked about when people want to be taken off life support and stuff. And she talked about Dr. Kevorkian.”

Jesus. “Annie,” I say as gently as I can, “Papa is probably going to be accused of something similar to that.”

Her face goes white, and Caitlin strokes her shoulder. “Of murdering somebody?”

“Some people may say that. They might say that he helped somebody to die, and others might say he committed murder.”

“But Papa wouldn’t hurt anybody.”