She felt no presence, no warmth, no sensation of closeness. She hadn’t expected to. She wasn’t even sure why she kept coming; wherever her father was, if anywhere, it wasn’t here. But it was the only physical place she had, so she came.

She put the blanket she carried down on the grass, then sat on it, facing the mountains to the east. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, huddling against the December predawn chill as she waited for the sunrise.

Adam Kirk fumbled with the strip of fabric at his neck. It was one of the things he hadn’t yet found the solution to, the intricate motions of knotting a tie at his throat one-handed, and with his nondominant hand. But he would. Someday.

His cell phone chirped a reminder that he was supposed to leave in ten minutes. With a sigh he surrendered. He pulled off the blue tie and held it in front of him, following his sister Natalie’s suggestion that he simply tie it before he put it on. He managed it there, where he could use both hands. He slipped the noose—his father’s word for it—over his head, under the collar of the crisp white shirt, and by pressing the tail end against his chest with his right hand, tightened it neatly with the other.

“You don’t have to go, you know.”

He glanced at the mirror, saw his sister’s face from where she was standing in the doorway of his room. Nat’s brow was furrowed with worry. She’d grown up well. She would never make a mess of her life the way he had.

“Yes, I do,” he answered quietly.

“From what you’ve told me of him, he wouldn’t expect you to.”

“It’s not his expectations I’m dealing with.”

Nat sighed. “You’ve got an outsize sense of responsibility, bro.”

He felt the knot in his gut that had been there since he’d gotten up at 4:00 a.m. tighten another notch. “I am responsible.”

“Stop it. You are not.”

He didn’t answer. There was nothing more to say. He knew what he knew. And the simple fact was that a good, good man, and a good cop, was dead because of him. That five years had passed didn’t change that.

“Please be careful, Adam. It’s such a long drive.”

“Mmm.”

“You’ll be back tomorrow, right? Before the snow hits?”

She sounded anxious. He knew it was because the snow that was forecast for the Palouse would likely dump on the Cascade Mountains—which he had to traverse—first.

“Should be,” he said.

“If it’s too bad—”

“Nat, stop.” He turned to look at her. “I love you, but stop.”