asking what you’re sorry for. Are you sorry you got caught? Or are you sorry you did it?”
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He opened his mouth.
Then he closed it.
He looked at me for a long time.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. Honestly. “I don’t know yet.”
I nodded.
“That’s the first true thing you’ve said to me,” I said. “Come up here and sit down, Mr. Pierce.”
He came up the porch steps. He sat down in George’s old rocking chair. The one next to mine. Nobody had sat in it in seven years.
“Tell me






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