“And just because he can’t tell you different, you assume I fired the rifle myself?”

“I’m not saying yes, and I’m not saying no. But if you’re asking, are you a suspect for attempted murder, the answer would have to be yes, ma’am, you are.”

As soon as the policeman had shut the door, Nate came into the kitchen and sat down across from his mother. Her head lay flat on her arm against the table, and her red hair hid her face.

“Mom.” The kitchen had grown dark, and she hadn’t gotten up to turn on the lights. Nate could smell something burning on the stove and went to turn off the heat.

“Please, can we talk about Dad?” he asked, sitting down again.

She lifted her head as if it were being pulled by a thread that could barely hold it up and too much sudden motion might make the whole thing snap. She looked in her cup, then out the window, then back in her cup.

“Your father shot himself in the head,” she said at last, her words a whisper. “And now, in case that’s not enough, the police are saying it might have been me who did it.”

“Then we have to go see him. Is he in the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“We have to go talk to him.”

“He’s not in his right mind, Nate. I saw him on that first day, and I don’t plan on going back. I can’t bear it.”

Nate drew in his breath. “Maybe he needs to see us.”

“He’s in no state for visiting,” she told him.

“I’d talk to him,” Nate said. “He’d listen to me. Once I talk to him, he’ll explain things to the police.”

“I don’t want to discuss this, Nathan. It’s just not the time for going to the hospital.”

“When will it be?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s not fair,” he said. His voice was rising. “You think this is just your problem, but it’s not. Maybe you don’t feel like seeing Dad, but Junie and I do. Don’t we count?”

“You don’t understand,” his mother said. “Your father doesn’t have anything for you now. Not for you or your sister or me or anyone.”

“It’s not about getting anything from him,” Nate told her. “Maybe Junie and I just want to help him.”

“I wish he’d shown half the compassion for the two of you that you have for him,” she said, and there was a bitter sound to her voice that he hated.

“One thing’s for sure,” Nate told her. “I’m glad I’m not like you. You don’t even care what happens to him.”

“Don’t tell me what I care about.”

“Well, not Dad, that’s for sure. The policeman was right about that part.”