“No I’m not,” Henry said. “You know I’m not. I haven’t been for a long time.”

That was all they said about it. Which was still more than they had ever said about it.

No part of him wanted to go to this holiday party, tonight. On the bed she had set out what she wanted him to wear. A green crushed-velvet jacket and black bow tie. Instead, he went to the closet and picked out a black cashmere turtleneck—a small act of defiance. She’d sworn to him, after they had sold it to the Lions all those years ago, that he would never have to go to Montague House again. It wasn’t the first time she’d lied to him; that was his initial thought. But that wasn’t entirely true. She never lied about Steve. She didn’t have to. Henry never confronted her about him.

Instead he started drinking. Twenty-three years after he gave it up, could he ever use a shot right now. Something to give him the courage to walk back into that house.

Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe being there was just what he needed. Maybe it would be cathartic. Seeing the staircase, the chandelier, each and every detail he had so carefully chosen and crafted—maybe it would bring back memories of what exactly happened that night after they pulled up to the cabin and his mind went blank. That was the worst part. He couldn’t remember anything. All he had were the newspaper reports and Claudine’s version. Nothing else. Just a total vacuum. All these years he had to fill in the blanks, and maybe what actually happened wasn’t as bad as what he imagined. It couldn’t be any worse.

Yes, he needed to look at it like this. That going back to Montague House would give him answers. Be some final step that makes him whole again. He had tried just about everything else. Served on the board of the local Habitat for Humanity chapter. Started an after-school architecture program at an underserved high school. Yet no amount of charitable work provided a feeling of absolution. There was no path to redemption. Of course, there was one thing he hadn’t tried: confessing. But he couldn’t do it. Placing that burden on someone was selfish. He had altered enough lives. And, more important, confessing would expose Claudine. Implicate her, when she had only been trying to help. Only looking to protect him. He was willing to suffer if that meant she didn’t have to. That secrecy was why he couldn’t do AA. Step 5: “Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.” No problem on those first two. But to another human being? Impossible.