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nodded his thanks. I could see he was burning to ask another question but was probably afraid to.
    I wanted to set his mind at ease. “He’s looking forward to meeting you. I know he wanted to talk to your mother first, but I’m sure he’ll come to see you as soon as he can.”
    “Yeah, I guess,” Justin said. “But he’s this rich, famous writer, and I’m a hick from a little town in Mississippi.”
    I suppressed a smile. “He’s from this same little town. He knows he has a son now, and that’s the only thing that matters. You could be purple with seven eyes, and he wouldn’t care.”
    Justin laughed at that, and Diesel joined in, chirping. The sound of a ringing phone interrupted their merriment.
    “Excuse me,” Justin said. He stood and pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his jeans. “It’s my mom,” he said after glancing at the display. “Be right back.”
    Justin walked out of the kitchen as he answered the call. “Hi, Mom.”
    That was the last Diesel and I heard. Diesel stared hopefully at the potato chips left on Justin’s plate.
    “No, siree,” I said. I picked up the plate and took it over to the sink. “That’s not Diesel food.”
    I walked back to the table where Diesel sat. As I scratched his head, his rumbling purr started.
    “Mr. Charlie.”
    Justin stood in the kitchen doorway, a stricken look on his face.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “My father—Ezra, I mean—is in the hospital. He got in a fight, and now he’s in bad shape.” He paused, his body trembling. “Can you take me to the hospital?”

FIVE
    I hate hospitals. I have spent far too much time in them, first with my parents and then with my wife. As I parked my car in a visitors’ lot at Athena Regional Medical Center, I remembered the last time I was here—when Aunt Dottie succumbed to pancreatic cancer. I was at her side, trying to see not her ravaged face and body, but the happy, healthy woman I adored.
    Beside me, Justin unbuckled his seat belt, the sound breaking into my reverie. “I don’t like hospitals,” he said. “But I guess I have to go in.” He made no move to open his door, but he touched his bruised cheek a couple of times.
    “I don’t like them either,” I said. “But your mother wants you to be here. She needs your support.” I opened my door. “Come on, let’s go in.”
    Justin sighed heavily, but he did as I instructed.
    He followed me, lagging a little behind, to the emergency room entrance. I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to go inside, not after what Ezra had done to him earlier.
    I had no idea how serious Ezra’s condition might be. “Bad shape” could mean any number of things. Julia hadn’t given her son any details, but I doubted Ezra was in critical condition.
    And if Ezra had been fighting, who was his opponent? The logical answer was Godfrey Priest. Was he injured as well?
    Inside the ER, we paused at the desk to inquire about Ezra, but before I finished speaking, Julia appeared beside us.
    She was better dressed than I remembered seeing her for a long time. Her usual shapeless cotton or polyester frock was gone, replaced by a serviceable black dress. Probably the one she wore to funerals, I decided. It gave her a certain dignity, offering a sharp contrast to her gray hair, pulled into a severe bun at the nape of her neck.
    “Thank you for bringing him, Charlie,” Julia said. She touched Justin’s arm. Then she gasped as she saw the bruise on his cheek. She touched it gingerly, and Justin shied away. “Sweetie, what happened?”
    “He hit me.” Justin glared at his mother.
    Julia whirled to face me. “What on earth do you mean, striking him like that?” By the fire in her eyes I could see she was about ready to strike out at me.
    “Not me,” I said, holding up a hand. “Calm down, Julia.”
    “Then who?” Julia asked, turning back to Justin.
    “Ezra.” He said the word with such loathing, even Julia flinched. “A little while ago. He came to try to make