She looked back down, closing her eyes to conceal her pain, though tears stole through the corners of her eyes. It pained me to add to all she’d been through.

After a moment I said, “This is just a lot to process. It’s been a long day. I need to sleep on it.”

She nodded understandingly. “We can go back to the motel.”

I looked at her for a moment, then pushed my chair back from the table and stood. “Can I get you something else to eat? You could take it back to your room.”

She shook her head as she stood. “No. I’m okay,” she said softly.

We walked silently together back to the motel. I saw Pamela to her door. She inserted her room key, but instead of opening the door, turned to me. “Whatever you decide, thank you for listening. You have no idea how much it helps. Especially knowing that my girl found someone who truly loved her.” She opened her door and stepped inside.

“Pamela.”

She looked back at me.

“I’m sorry that you went through what you did.”

She smiled sadly. “Thank you. Good night, Alan.”

“Good night,” I said.

She shut her door, and I went back to my room. I was emotionally exhausted. I just wanted to go to bed, but I hadn’t washed my clothes in days and the motel had a tiny Laundromat. I gathered my clothes and put them in the washer, then went back to my room. I watched television until it was time to transfer my clothes to the dryer. Then I returned to my room and the television. Finally, at eleven, I returned to the Laundromat and gathered up all my things.

Back in my room, I threw everything on the dresser, then turned out the lights and climbed into bed. Only then, staring into the darkness, did I allow my mind to return to Pamela and the evening’s conversation. “What do I do, McKale?” I said aloud. “What do you want me to do?”

I fell asleep with those words on my lips.

Chapter Eight

C H A P T E R

Eight

My father used to say, “Pity is

just a poor man’s empathy.”

Alan Christoffersen’s diary

I’m not one to ascribe religious significance to psychological or natural phenomenon. I roll my eyes with incredulity when someone claims a higher power found him a parking spot in front of the local Wal-Mart or a potato resembles Jesus or the Virgin Mother—as if anyone has any idea what either of them look like.