Maybe this is how it feels, I thought.

Adulthood.

I preferred the clarity of single-mindedness, so I thought about the best way to help my brother. Before, the answer would have been simple. My father was a cop, with his own kind of clarity. But I couldn’t ask for his help—he’d worry more for me than Jason, and act accordingly. Should I visit Jason in prison? I debated as I drove, then stopped at a pay phone and lied to my mother.

“How late?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. A few hours.”

“What are you doing?”

“Something with Chance. Nothing big. Hanging out.”

“But your father—”

“Just tell him for me, okay?”

I hung up because I knew how the rest of it would play. On Chance’s street, I parked a half block down, and watched my back as I walked to his house. It was that kind of street. His mother came to the door when I knocked, her hair streaked with gray and pulled back in a kerchief. She’d worked two shifts already, but none of that tiredness touched her eyes when she saw me. “Gibby, sweetheart. Come inside. You’re in time for dinner.” She gave me a hug, then called out to Chance. “Chance, come say hi to Gibby.”

Chance emerged from the back hall, surprised to see me.

“Can we talk?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure. Mom?”

“Dinner in ten minutes. Gibby, do you like creamed chipped beef on toast?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Chance led me to his room, a small space with a single window. “Have you ever had creamed chipped beef on toast?” He closed the door. “Dried beef, milk sauce, and Wonder Bread. Your basic staples.”

“I’m sure it’s awesome.”

“I guess you’re here for a reason.”

I said that I was, and told him what I wanted to do.

“Are you nuts?” he demanded. “Are you fucking high?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“You want to figure out who killed Tyra Norris? You? Not the cops?”

I nodded.

“Then yeah, I’d say you’re nuts, like off-your-rocker, nuthouse nuts. Leave it for the cops, man.”

“The cops think Jason did it.”

“Not your dad, though.”

“I don’t know. I think maybe he does. He won’t talk about it, but he’s got this grimness, like he’s braced for it. And the other cops are watching him. I can tell you that. They’re looking at him strange.”

“Dude, you’re just a kid…”

“Am I, though? I can vote, drink, go to war.”

“Forget that bullshit. Let’s break the rest of it down. We have a murdered woman—”

“Tyra.”

“Tyra, fine. I know her name. This Tyra’s been seriously, hard-core murdered, and you want to prove your brother didn’t do it.” He leaned into the next word, pausing with one hand up, as if to throw a dart. “How?”