But the judge never had, either then or in any of the dozens of letters they’d exchanged while Gibson was in the service. The first had arrived unexpectedly on the day before his graduation from Parris Island. Only his third piece of mail since entering the Corps, the letter was a thoughtful meditation on adulthood. It had run to twenty handwritten pages; Gibson had sat on the edge of his bunk, reading it over and over. It was Family Day, which meant that most of his fellow graduates were touring the base with relatives. The letter made him feel less alone in the world. He’d written back a heartfelt thank-you. After that, they’d traded letters every few months—Gibson’s terse and newsy, the judge’s expansive and philosophical. Gibson wondered what the judge would advise in this situation.

“I remember the last time I saw you,” Gibson told Abe. “Right after the judge said I was going to the Marines. Everyone lost their mind, but not you. I wanted to see your reaction, but you just stood up and left. Even took the time to button your suit jacket and then walked out like nothing had happened. Very smooth. Were you on your way to deliver the bad news to Lombard?”

“I was.”

“I always wondered how Lombard took it, after all that work to send me up the river. Guess it didn’t go over well.”

“No. It did not go over well at all. But I’m glad it worked out the way it did. I’ve come to realize it was a mistake. I am sorry for the part I played in what happened to you.”

The apology caught Gibson off guard. He felt a strange sense of gratitude simply to hear someone apologize at last. He also resented it almost immediately. Yes, it was unexpected and might feel good, but what difference did a ten-year-old apology make?

“So you were just some innocent pawn—is that what you’re selling?”

“No.” Abe shook his head. “I don’t believe ignorance is enough. I was ignorant, but only because I allowed myself that luxury. Because I didn’t ask the questions that I should have. My loyalty misled me. I knew it was wrong, but I ignored my instincts. I am far from innocent.”

“So what, then?” Gibson asked. “You and Girl Friday back there track me down so you can get that off your chest? A little Sunday morning confessional? Do you feel better?”

“It does feel good. I’m surprised at just how good. But that’s not why I’m here.”

Toby appeared with menus and a pot of coffee. He flipped over the cup in front of Gibson and filled it. He seemed uneasy and gave Gibson a look that asked if he should do something. Gibson shook his head imperceptibly. Whatever was happening here, Gibson didn’t want to involve Toby.