“It’s me, ma’am. It’s Jimmy Moore.”

“I know who you are,” she said, with no less causticness than had been in her first words. “You got old. And bald.”

James faintly smiled at the blunt statement of the obvious. “Yes, ma’am, well the Lord giveth—”

“And He can snatch it right back from you!” she finished.

“Yes, ma’am. Look, I’d like to talk to you about Travis.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

The starkness reflected in her eyes gave James momentary pause. It was as if looking at a stranger, a shell, despite the pluck in her words. Yet, he’d grown up at this house. Spent countless hours here with Travis. He knew this woman. She was practically family. “Do you think maybe we could go inside? We could sit down. Maybe I can take you and we could get a cup of coffee.”

“I don’t need coffee, and I don’t need conversation. Travis is gone, and everyone’s happy. Fine!”

“Not me,” James said quietly.

“Not you?” The surprise in her voice saddened him. Of all people, she should have believed he’d stand by Travis.

“No ma’am. I’m not happy.”

“And why’s that?” The surprise in her tone turned to skepticism.

“Gut feeling.”

She outright laughed! James began to smile, too, but then her laugh turned into a cough, chesty and harsh: a smoker’s cough.

Had she started the fire? As soon as the absurd thought resurfaced, James tamped it down.

With her mouth covered, she turned and jogged into to the house.

“Ma’am, you all right?” James said.

“Come in. Shut the door!” she hollered from inside. She poured a glass of water and drank it. Then, as he made his way into the kitchen, she turned to face him. She shook her head. “Don’t take up smoking.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And stop with all the ma’am business, would you? We’re both too old for that.”

James grinned. “OK.”

She leaned against the counter. “Travis didn’t do what he’s being blamed for; plain and simple. I know it. You know it.”

“You know this as a fact?”

“I know this as a mother,” she said without hesitation.

“OK, well then, who did do it?”

She raised her eyebrows and gave him the same pointed look that made him squirm when he was a kid.

“You’re suggesting there is someone. What makes you think that?”

“Because everybody—”

“Yeah! Right.”

“OK. I see where you’re going with this. Let’s say there’s another explanation for this. Then, why is Travis doing what he’s doing? Taking the blame. Why is he saying that he did it? It makes no sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. “But it’s Travis we’re talking about here. Half of whatever he did in his life never made sense.” She paused as if allowing her words to sink in. “But the other half made perfect sense.”

The weight of her words hit James like a mallet to the gut. Travis wasn’t wily enough to harbor ulterior motives. He had a reason for confessing, and once again, James rationalized that the reason had to be protection. But if Travis wasn’t protecting his mother, who was he protecting? Who else did Travis care about enough to forfeit the rest of his life to prison?