“I don’t like your tone.”

Joel did his best to sound bemused. “You must have shown that kid a hell of a time to deserve a gold medal.”

“He’s not a kid!” The burly man took another stumbling step back, hiccuped. Wesley was not—Joel was relieved to see—the sort of man whose drunkenness dissipated when shit hit the fan. He stumbled again, shook his head, stared at Joel like he wanted his forgiveness, but said only, “I—I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Joel studied the medal. A careful, conspiratorial hesitation. “Do you want to sit down?”

In the living room, Joel dropped his phone casually on the arm of the sofa, went to the drinks cart to pour Wesley a whiskey. The man accepted it without a word.

“I’m trying to help you here, Wes.” Joel sat down close, a hand on Wesley’s massive thigh. He thought of that clumsy stumble Sunday night when the minister had fallen against his chest just for the chance to touch him. How many sad accidents had this man survived on? “The cops know Luke wasn’t home Friday night. They haven’t spoken to him yet.”

“But you have.”

“He told me he was here.”

“Consent in Texas is seventeen.”

“But Luke was still one of your pupils at the church, wasn’t he?”

“He’s a Methodist.”

Joel gave him a muted shrug.

“What’s the point?” Wesley sighed into his glass. “Luke was caught sleeping with some boy over in Rockdale. In a parking lot. A parking lot! His mother—I hope you never meet that woman—she and I’d been friendly since I bought this house. She came to me for help, asked me to give the boy some private guidance. How could I say no?”

The minister raised a toast to the TV.

“Luke was a lot less confused about himself than his mother thought,” Wesley said. And, the minister went on, Luke didn’t waste any time. When things started, Wesley and the boy would meet for lunch at a chain restaurant in Waco, a ninety-minute drive away, and over enchiladas Wesley would try to talk about the Lord, about the value He places on keeping one’s body pure, about all the old promises of retribution for those folks who failed to follow some simple commandments. “He seemed receptive,” Wesley said.

I bet, Joel thought.

Wesley said it was all so quotidian. Things took a turn. Their sessions grew longer, more personal.

Soon Luke was giving the minister little gifts as thank-yous for making so much time for him—a small cross he’d carved at home, a chunk of quartz he’d discovered on a hike with his brother. That was when he’d given Wesley the medal. “He said he remembered how well I played in my day. He said Troy Clark didn’t deserve all the love he got.”

Of course, Luke knew that Wesley was the only person living on this stretch of the Evers family’s subdevelopment. Last Friday, things finally came to a head. Luke had texted Wesley Friday night after the game was over and said he had something he couldn’t wait to ask the minister about.