His son was asleep, curled up close to Mel, tiny hands by his face. Chris remembered those long, waiting months of her pregnancy.

His hands gently following the taut curve of her belly, the immenseness of what it contained, what it meant for them both.

That impossible heat of her, from the bright flame of the thing growing inside her.

And, here, now: John Thomas Cherry.

They’d remade the world when they’d brought their son into it, and Chris had to believe, had to hope, they’d remade it for the better.

Jack was all the endless possibilities of better things.

A better world.

—

CHRIS TOOK HIS COFFEE and sat in the kitchen, with Rocky watching him from the floor. He had his papers spread out in front of him: the new story he was working on (he was always working on a story), and Garrison’s folder and some notes—finally—for tonight’s debate. He needed to think about it seriously, or at least for Mel’s sake seriously pretend that he was thinking about it, but he was afraid there was nothing he could say about his time as sheriff that anyone would truly understand.

Instead, his thoughts kept returning to Murfee’s bookstore on Main Street; all those old, dusty books in the window, safe behind glass. The store he and Fox Uno had stood and talked in front of, owned by Homer Delahunt, a friend of Chris’s dad. Homer was well into his seventies, and everyone could see it was getting harder and harder for him to keep it up. He’d talked to a few folks about selling the place, but so far, there hadn’t been any takers.

Chris had called him, ran a few questions by him, just curious.

He made the call to Homer after deciding, again, not to call Garrison. He’d thought a hundred times about calling the agent, but each time he had put his phone away and hadn’t followed through, until it got easier not to think about it at all.

While talking to Homer, he noticed that some of the new reelection signs Mel had put up for him had been taken down, or had disappeared.

Maybe they had fallen and blown away.

—

HE FOCUSED ON THE BLANK PAPER in front of him, trying to make a list of the things he’d accomplished.

He could point to visible improvements around the jail and around the department itself. He’d implemented new policies and practices that had brought the Big Bend County Sheriff’s Department in line with modern and, Chris hoped, more ethical policing. He’d trained and equipped his deputies better, hiring good people to be those deputies: America, Danny, and the new kid, Marco.

He’d expanded the department’s outreach to the Hispanic community.

These were all things he was proud of, but were they enough?

Did they matter?