"I have to."
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
Beau looked at his oldest friend in the world.
The man who had stood beside him at the altar.
Beside him at the grave.
He said nothing for a long time.
"I know you are."
Then Beau looked down.
"I'm sorry, too."
"I've been sorry for three years."
"I should've said it."
"I should've said it the day we put Mason in the ground."
"I thought saying it would make things worse."
"I was wrong."
Tank nodded.
He could not speak.
"Get in the truck," Beau said.
Tank got in.
Cyrus drove him to a safe house in Dearborn.
He stayed with him through the night.
The next morning, Tank put on a clean shirt and traveled to Cincinnati alone.
At ten in the morning, he entered the federal building.
He did exactly what Beau Whitlock had told him to do.
He eventually served 11 years.
Every Christmas, he sent Maggie Whitlock a card.
Every Christmas, she wrote back.
Maggie heard the hospital-room door close behind Cyrus and Tank.
She heard the heavy quiet in the corridor outside.
She knew Beau had returned.
That Cyrus had told him.
That her husband was standing outside and saying nothing.
She turned back toward Eli.
Eli Carter opened his eyes.
He stared at the ceiling for a moment.
Confused.
Then he turned his head.
He saw her.
His face changed.
He tried to speak.
His voice would not come at first.
"Hello, honey," Maggie said.
"You came back."
"You," he whispered.
His eyes filled.
"You're okay."
"I'm okay because of you."
"Where am I?"
"Hospital."
"You're safe."
"Nobody's going to hurt you."
"I promise you, Eli."
"Nobody is ever going to hurt you again."
He looked at her for a long time.
She could still see the fear.
Foster homes.
The system.
The thing that taught him adults were something you ran from.
Maggie reached into the pocket of her sweatshirt.
She took out the photograph.
She laid it on the blanket beside his hand.
He looked down.
His eyes widened.
His small hand emerged from beneath the blanket.
He picked up the photograph.
He held it close to his face.
"My mom," he whispered.