I nod, my face suddenly hot. “Well,” I say, “let’s get on the road.”

Shane throws his bag into the trunk of my car, and then he climbs into the passenger seat beside me. “I’ve got to get my driver’s license back.”

“I don’t mind being your chauffeur in the meantime,” I tell him.

“Thanks, Brooke.”

“Want to grab some fast food on the way back?”

His mouth practically starts watering. “Jesus, you read my mind.”

It turns out that taking a guy who’s been in prison for the last ten years to a fast-food restaurant is even better than taking a kid to a candy store. Shane stares at the menu for like ten minutes, his eyes huge, and he ends up ordering more food than I’ve ever seen him eat in one sitting. After he orders, he digs out this envelope full of cash from his pocket, but I make him put it back. He has practically no money—the least I can do is treat him to this meal.

When he finally takes a bite of that greasy fast-food burger, he looks like he’s going to die from happiness. “Holy shit, this is a fantastic burger.”

I look at my own burger, with its rubbery patty and limp lettuce. “I guess.”

He stuffs like eight french fries into his mouth all at once and then takes a long sip from his vanilla milkshake. “I’m sorry. You don’t know what I’ve been eating for the last ten years.”

“Was it that bad?”

He cringes. “I don’t want to talk about it. But yes.”

For a moment, I imagine Tim sitting at one of the long tables in the prison dining hall, staring down at a tray of mystery meat and waterlogged vegetables. It’s what he deserves. It’s better than he deserves.

“So,” Shane says, “when does Josh get home?”

As much as he is enjoying this fast food meal, it’s become clear from the conversations I’ve had with Shane in the last several weeks that what he is really looking forward to is meeting his son. He was adamant that I couldn’t bring Josh to see him at the penitentiary. I don’t want him to see me like this.

“The bus usually arrives at our house at a quarter after three,” I say.

He nods. “So…”

We’re not entirely sure how the best way to handle this situation is. It’s not the kind of thing you can easily look up online. How do you introduce your son to his father who has been in jail for murder for ten years? It’s tricky. All I have told Josh so far is that an old friend of mine would be staying with us for a bit.

“I’m just going to say you’re my friend,” I tell him. “We’re agreed on that, right?”