But Karen went on into the house, either ignoring or not hearing the question. Amanda rolled her eyes, a scene that must have been replicated ten thousand times during her childhood. We followed along in Karen’s wake.

She led us back to the family room. Before we even arrived there, I heard the TV playing. And I could tell what Bill was watching.

“. . . we go there now for more details on this police shooting . . .”

I looked at Amanda. She had heard it too. No choice. Bill’s hearing had been declining for the last five years, and his TV volume went higher and higher each time we visited them. He always seemed to have the TV turned to either the news or a true-crime story. Murder and mayhem unleashed on the heartland seemed to appeal to him . . . but also made him more afraid of everything that moved. He once spoke openly of buying a gun, which prompted Amanda to say she wouldn’t bring Henry to their house if he did. Given everything that had been going on, I kind of wondered if I felt differently about my father-in-law packing heat.

Bill waved to us but kept his eyes on the TV screen. I saw the police station, with a bunch of cars and news vans out front. A reporter stood stoically with a microphone in her hand.

“Honey, can you turn that down a little?” Karen asked.

“Are you following this?” he asked. I assumed he meant the question for Amanda and me. “The cops shot a guy downtown. They think he killed that girl they found dead last night. Did you hear about all that?”

“Yes, we heard, Dad,” Amanda said. “Are they saying anything new?”

“That girl, the one who got murdered—they said she worked at a nonprofit that helped prisoners get jobs. How much do you want to bet—”

“Dad? Are they saying anything new?”

“Not really. They never do.”

“Have they said who got killed?” I asked. I hoped I didn’t sound overly curious. Or shaken.

“They’re not saying,” Bill said. He looked at us both for a moment as though he had just noticed we were standing there. “Well, why don’t the two of you sit down?”

“Bill, why don’t you get them a drink? We have some rolls left over from breakfast.”

“We’re fine, Mom.”

And we both sat on the couch, staring at the TV. Karen placed Henry on a blanket she’d already laid out on the floor. She began handing him blocks and cars and toys, more than the boy could ever grab and suck on in a lifetime of trying.