School started back right on time in early August even though the buses still couldn’t run to most places because of the construction to rebuild the roads and bridges. A month of broiling summer had done little more than dry out the mud. School had been back in session only a week when Asher received the call that Justin had been hurt in a fight.

In the principal’s office Asher saw that Justin’s mouth was busted and swollen, a straight cut—crisscrossed now with three tiny bandages—ran along the cheekbone beneath his right eye, which was already turning a greenish blue. Blood was caked in his nostrils. Asher could see how ashamed Justin was, the way he was trying to hold it together and put on a brave face and act like this was not a big deal.

Asher tried to not react. He ran his hand down the back of Justin’s head, cupping his fingers around his son’s small neck as he sat beside him. Justin’s dazed eyes were fixed on the principal.

Mrs. Jackson was from way down in Mississippi and spoke in an elegant drawl, the way people did in movies when they were trying to sound Southern.

“Justin, darlin, do you want to tell your daddy what happened with me in the room, or do you want me to leave?” Mrs. Jackson leaned forward and the scratchy fabric of her pink blazer scritched loudly in the silent office.

“It won’t make any difference.” Justin’s voice was very small and he spoke his words to the floor.

“Why do you say that, now, honey?” Mrs. Jackson spoke with a soothing firmness. “I need to talk to whoever did this to you. You don’t want them doing it to anybody else, do you?”

“No, ma’am,” he whispered. Asher saw that Justin’s hands were clenched together in his lap. He could hardly stand to see his son in this shape. He wanted to knock the hell out of somebody himself.

Beyond the office the school had grown very quiet. By the time Asher had arrived all the schoolchildren had been unleashed upon the world, bursting outside in a great chattering herd. Now they had gone on home and Asher could hear the ticking of the plain round clock that hung on the cinder block wall behind Mrs. Jackson’s head. Beyond that was the chilling wind of the air conditioner.

“The therapy has been really good for Justin, so I’d encourage y’all to talk to her about what happened today.”

“Therapy?” Asher said.