“He would have hated being locked up in prison,” Miranda says. “Maybe he saw dying as the better choice.”

“Do you think Cole really knew that was going to happen?” Parker looks doubtful.

Amina reaches out and takes Grace’s hand. “I saw his face when he did it. He was trying to save you. I don’t know if he knew he would die because of it, but that doesn’t change what he did.”

“He’s still the kind of guy who thought it was okay to kill people,” Parker says.

It’s easy for Parker to see Cole in black and white, Miranda thinks. He was never in the room with the five of them. He never heard Cole talk about the events that shaped his life and attitudes. Was Cole just a product of his circumstances? But that would negate both the bad things and good things he had done.

“Cole was racist,” Javier says. “And he saved me from bleeding to death. Both things are true.”

The five of them sit in silence with this for a minute.

Finally Miranda leans toward Javier. “How’s the new job going?”

He runs his fingers through his black hair. “They call what I do maintenance engineer, but it’s really running the heating and cooling systems. But now I’m thinking about going to college to be a real engineer. Amina’s dad”—Amina and Javier exchange a smile—“helped me find an immigration lawyer. She’s working pro bono. That means for no money. She says I can get a special visa when I testify about the killers, one that’ll make me legal.”

Amina asks, “How about your sister, Parker? How’s Moxie doing?”

Parker digs his phone out of his pocket and passes it around so they can see Moxie’s picture. In it, she’s grinning and pointing at a missing front tooth.

A shadow crosses Grace’s face as she says, “She’s adorable.” Miranda wonders if Grace is thinking that her treatment might leave her sterile. “Does she ever talk about what happened?”

Parker shrugs. “My parents made both of us go to therapy, but for Moxie it seems like most of it just rolled off.” Miranda knows the same has not been true for him. “My dad wants me to tell my story for my college essays.” He blows air through pursed lips as he looks down at his hands, which are clenched into fists. “But that just seems wrong.”

“Everyone always asks about it anyway,” Amina says. “Might as well put it to some use.” She touches her headscarf. “People are always staring at me, and not just in Culpeppers. Half of them ask if I’m the one they read about. The other half still call me a terrorist or tell me to go back to my country. Like you can’t be both Muslim and American.”