Which strikes me as a really nice thing to say because I’m not used to someone caring for me. But that’s what Meg has done tonight. By not saying a word, she took care of me.

A few days later, my dad is released on parole. His lawyers argued that he’s rehabilitated, and of course he’s the picture of remorse, so no longer a threat to society. Cured or whatever. The victims tried their best. My mom spoke her piece, too. In the end, it didn’t matter. To be honest, I wasn’t surprised. He can be very convincing. His job was words. The man knew how to talk a room into heaven, so it stood to reason that he could just as easily talk himself out of hell.

I didn’t attend the hearing. Brian tried one more time to convince me, this morning, presumably on their way out. I didn’t even come to the door. Cash barked and barked, and I rolled over and pulled my pillow over my head until he stopped. After I heard the car pull out of the drive, I got dressed for the woods. I drove out to Mount Marquette and spent a few hours trying to get lost and another few finding my way back. Sometimes I ran. A few times, I kicked at moss-covered logs in my path. What I didn’t do was sit in the silence and reflect about what was happening a hundred miles away. It was hard enough chasing the memories all over the Northwoods; I didn’t need to add the confirmation that it was all for naught—that he was going to be back in our lives like nothing had changed. Well, like most things hadn’t changed. Obviously, my mom had moved on. Obviously, we were older. I could choose not to talk to him. But would I turn him away when he showed up? Was I strong enough to do that?

Worse. What if he didn’t show up?

I fucking hate myself for that last part.

By the time I get back, it’s starting to get dark. My stomach is rumbling for dinner, and Cash is ready for his pillow. My phone is perpetually lit, messages coming from my family and Duke, and I don’t want to talk to any of them.

MEG: Heard the news. I’m off at 6.

MICAH: Sorry, I was in the woods. I just got back.

MEG: Figured you might be. Want to come over?

MICAH: Maybe?

I want to see Meg, but …

MEG: James is out. I’m making my special quesadillas.

MICAH: I’ll be there in twenty.

And then I exhale, all the way, for the first time today.

I leave my bike parked against their stoop, letting James know I’m around whenever he returns. Meg opens the door with a blinding grin. “He’s out on a date!”