Clay opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. When he forces words out, his voice is flat. “That’s done. I can’t help you no more.”

Clay reaches for me. I take his hand and lace our fingers together. We watch the Sheriff take a few straggling breaths. Finally Clay speaks, soft and low. “I bin standin’ here trying to think of what to say before ya die. Most would tell their pa they loved ’em, but I just can’t. Would be a lie and I can’t lie with you like this.” He gestures to his father’s slumped body. “Best I can say is thanks for not throwing me to the coyotes when you found out I was a boy. Other than that, well …” He sniffs. “Not much else I can thank you for.”

The Sheriff’s head bobs up and down. He forces his head up and looks into Clay’s eyes. “I gave you everythin’.”

Clay shakes his head. He squats down on his haunches. His hands tremble as he grasps his knees. “You used me for your own gain. That’s all you ever did, Pa. Use people. And you taught me to use people. I’ve been trying to unlearn that lesson for a while.”

“I …” The Sheriff’s voice is thick with fluid. Blood pools at the corners of his mouth. His breathing sounds like a clogged pipe.

Clay shakes his head. Tears wet the corners of his eyes. “It’s done, Pa. Let it go.”

The Sheriff keeps his eyes locked on Clay. His mouth forms words, but no sound follows. He gurgles a few times, more blood spilling from his mouth and pooling under this chin. A couple of wet breaths and then his head rolls to his chest.

Clay crouches, letting his lean shadow cover his father’s body like a shroud. Finally, he puts his palm softly on his father’s chest just above where the gunshot wound still dribbles blood. Then he stands up and wipes his hands on his jeans.

I can’t believe the Sheriff is dead. I want to comfort Clay, tell him it’ll be all right, but my throat is dry. I reach my hand out. Clay takes my hand and pulls me away. “Come on,” he says. “We gotta go.”

Clay leads me to Mama’s bed. I help him push it to the door. The bed’s bulky, but with all those cords and wires I don’t want to risk unhooking her. Betsy and Ethan gather beside us. I put my hand on Betsy’s arm. “What’re you going to do? Go or stay?”

She gives a little frown, but then plasters on her chipper smile. “Course I’m going, puddinhead. Can’t really stay here now, can I?” Her curls bob back and forth lightly.