Nat briefly wondered if turning eighteen would mean walking through the world without constantly being told what to do, what to say, what to think. Where to place your gaze.

Getting out of this hell hole wouldn't hurt those ends, either.

*So, we wanted you to be the very first to know,' he heard the old man say. Breaking through and interrupting his thoughts about freedom.

*Know what?' Nat asked. Literally not understanding if he had missed some part of the conversation or not.

*That Eleanor and I are getting married.'

A ringing silence.

*You're getting married?'

*Yes. We are.'

*Why?'

At the periphery of his vision, Nat saw Roger frown and shake his head. He also saw the old lady shift uncomfortably in her seat.

Nat looked up at the old man, who riveted him with his eyes.

*The same reason any two people get married. Because they love one another and enjoy each other's company. And because they've reached a point in their relationship where they know they're happier together than apart.'

Nat frowned and said nothing. Which created something of an awkward vacuum. Especially considering the visiting period had far more than an hour left to run.

*What the hell is your problem?' Roger asked as he marched Nat back down the hall to his cell block.

*Which of my many problems would that be?'

*That guy's given you everything. Saved your ass on the day you were born. Comes to see you every visiting day. Drives a five-hour round trip three times a week so you know you got one person cares enough for you-'

*I didn't ask him to-'

*I wasn't finished. How 'bout you just listen for a change? He's taking you in when you get sprung from here. Giving you a chance to start over. Now . . . would you like to explain to me why you would begrudge a man like that a little happiness from this life?'

Nathan just kept walking.

Roger stopped. Grabbed him by the back of his orange prison jumpsuit. Pulled him back and, rather gently for an unsupervised authority figure, Nat thought, placed his back against the peeling paint of the hallway wall.

*I think we were having a conversation,' Roger said, his face close.

Nat rolled his eyes. *What was the damn question again?'

*Why shouldn't he get married?'

*I never said he shouldn't.'

*Why can't you be happy for him? Why you gotta give them a bad time?'

*It's just gross.'

*It's not gross. It's sweet.'

*They're old.'

*They're not that old.'

*They're like . . . over sixty. I think.'

*So?'

*So you don't think that's gross?'

*Lots of people get married when they're young, and then they're still married when they're sixty. And seventy. And eighty. Is that gross?'

*If you really stop to think about it, yeah.'

*Ah,' Roger said. *I don't believe a word you say. You're not telling me the truth. And you're not telling yourself the truth. There's a reason why this bothers you. And you don't even know what it is yourself.'

*Like what?'

*Like maybe you're mad because he's getting some while you're holed up in here with a bunch of guys?'

*Oh, God. It just got even more gross. I don't want to think about them-'

*Or maybe you just want all his attention all the time.'

Nat actually thought about that for a minute. His grandmother had accused him of needing to be the center of attention, too. But she'd misjudged what was going on at the time. She hadn't had so much as a clue. Still, he gave a certain weight to words he had heard twice. So he tried them on. But they didn't seem to fit.

He wished briefly that someone would come down the hall and disturb this moment. But no one did.

*No, I don't think it's that,' he said.

*Tell you what . . .' Roger reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Peeled off a ten and held it up under Nat's nose. *Ten dollars for an honest answer.' Then he looked both ways and quickly put the money away again.

It was against the rules for an inmate to have cash while inside. And also very sought-after and valuable. Nat knew he could buy his way out of a lot of trouble with ten bucks. And Roger knew it, too.

*How will you know if it's honest?'

*If it has a ring of truth, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. No hurry, either. Think about it and get back to me.'

Then he took hold of the shoulder of Nat's jumpsuit, turned him, and marched him back to his cell.

10 August 1978.

Weird.

In the exercise yard, in the afternoon, Nat purposely dropped out of the game. Left a bunch of guys he didn't like anyway to play basketball without him, pretending to have pulled a muscle in his calf.

He caught Roger's eye as he limped over to a picnic table in the corner of the yard. Four corners, four guards. So of course he headed for Roger's corner.

He had something to say. And Roger seemed to catch that.

Roger leaned on the table with him and they watched the game.

*So, what do you have for me?' Roger asked. *Anything?'

Nat watched the game a moment longer in silence.

Then he said, *It's just weird-'

*Ah. Nope. You lost me at weird.'

*No. You didn't let me finish. That isn't what I was going to say. I wasn't going to say they were weird. Just that it's weird . . . you know . . . for me. Like, in a few months I'm going to be going back to his house to live. And I was only there for, like, a couple days. So it's all new and strange to me. But I sort of know him now. From all these visits. So I thought it would be OK. But I don't know her. So now it's all new and strange again. It's like . . . I guess weird isn't the right word, but I can't think what is.'

*Scary?'

*Maybe. Yeah. I guess.'

A pause, during which Nat wondered how he had done.

Roger spun around suddenly and grabbed Nat by his prison jumpsuit. Brought his face close. Nat winced, and braced himself. He was about to be read the riot act about something. But he had no idea what.

But then, within that private moment he had constructed, Roger winked at him. Slipped a folded bill into the single breast pocket of the jumpsuit.

*Now that has a ring of truth to it,' Roger said.

Then he let him go again, and Nat brushed himself off. Settled his breathing.

Roger pushed off from the table and began to walk away.

*Wait,' Nat said.

Roger stopped and turned around again. Walked back close.

*Why was that worth ten dollars to you?' Nat asked quietly. He knew it was important that none of the other guards heard, or knew.

Roger took a deep breath. *Because . . . from where I sit, nobody seems to know why the hell they do anything. Oh, they have some story for publication. But it always rings like bullshit. Because it is bullshit. Way I see it, that's what fills up a place like this. Bunch of scared little idiots running around lying to everybody about why they do what they do. Even themselves. The older I get the more it bothers me. So I just wanted to see if you could do it. You know. Given some time to think and some genuine incentive to get it right. I guess I figured if you could do it, anybody could.'

*Gee, thanks,' Nat said.

27 September 1978.

Happy To.

Nat slouched into the visiting room as he did every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. He scanned the room for The Man, but saw only some other guy's parents and an old woman.

When he looked more closely at the old woman, she looked up.

It was his grandmother.

Nat looked over at Roger, who glanced away. He wanted to catch Roger's eye. To ask, without words, why Roger hadn't said anything. Why he hadn't favored Nat with a warning. But that appeared to be a game Roger was unwilling to play.

Nat stood in front of her table for quite a long time. Until Roger came up behind him, placed a hand on each of Nat's shoulders, and sat him firmly in the chair.

*Hello, Nat,' the old woman said.

Nat said nothing.

*So. Still not speaking to me after all these years?'

*Where's the man who found me in the woods?' Nat asked. Feeling awkward about the phrasing, but not being sure what else to call him. Nathan? Mr McCann? The guy who, unlike you, is supposed to be here?

*He agreed to stay out in the waiting room until we were done talking.'

*If you ask my opinion,' Nat said, *we are done talking.'

*Well, I have a few things to say.'

Nat frowned and slumped deeply into his chair. His impulse was to walk away, but he resisted it, knowing Roger would only reseat him.

*First of all,' she said, *I have a question to ask you. And the question is this: what was I to do? Was I supposed to tell you, when you were just a little slip of a boy, that your mother did such a horrible thing to you? Would that have been the thing to do?'

Nat looked her straight in the eye for the first time, and she predictably averted her gaze.

*Yes,' he said flatly. *That would have been the thing to do.'

*Why? Would you care to tell me why that would have been a good way to handle things?'

*Sure,' Nat said. *Happy to. Because then I would have known that my mother was a rotten piece of crap who didn't give a shit about me-' Nat felt her rise to object to his language, but he raised a hand and she retreated again. In his peripheral vision he saw Roger take a step forward, then just freeze and wait. *No. I'm not done. I would have known all that about her. But I would have known I could trust you. And then I would have had one person in my life I knew I could trust.'

They both stared at the table for an awkward space of time.

*Well, I'm not sure I agree with you,' she said. *But let's say you're right. I'm human and we all make mistakes. Right or wrong, I did what I thought best. You can forgive me for that. Right?'

Nat didn't answer. Because he did not forgive her.