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other—Sam, Marshall, Woody, and me. We were all smiling, looking like we hadn’t a care in the world, the ‘Gang of Four.’
    We called ourselves that because, for years, in high school and college, we’d been joined at the hip. Woody, ever the non conformist, had given the rest of us all kinds of grief when we’d gone to law school. He’d been sure we would abandon our ideals and cave into the system. Maybe we had. Sam was now Little Rock’s prosecuting attorney. Marshall, originally a law-school professor, had become a trial judge. I’d started out as an English major and was now in a private law practice in DC. Despite the years, and my refusal to return to Little Rock, we remained close. They seemed to enjoy coming to DC, and we had all enjoyed the occasional week at the beach.
    Many of the framed photographs depicted celebrations at the Cole home and sparked vivid memories of jack-o’-lanterns and ghosts at Halloween, trimmed trees and presents at Christmas, dyed eggs and lavish baskets for Easter, and always, the smell of something baking.
    I turned to see Helen Cole coming down the stairs. She looked older but still exuded the grace and charm of a woman who has spent her life giving love and comfort to others. Everyone in the room stood, but she headed directly to Beth.
    â€œLove, you must be Elizabeth.”
    Almost on cue, they opened their arms to each other and tears started flowing. The group of friends turned back to the TV, trying not to stare at Beth and Helen. Someone turned up the volume and we heard, “The first comments from the Cole family came this evening from their attorney.”
    All of us stopped what we were doing and turned to the TV screen. And there I was … “I don’t know what happened yesterday, but I do know Philip Cole. He is one of the finest men I’ve ever known. He is a man of integrity who has dedicated his life to causes that matter to all of us.”
    Helen touched my shoulder. “God bless you, Jack.”
    The reporter said, “Mr. Patterson’s comments can only further inflame an already tense situation.”
    The camera switched to a “legal expert” who said, “Mr. Patterson is clearly in over his head. If Philip Cole has any chance at avoiding the death penalty, they’d better get him a real lawyer in a hurry.”
    With a
humph
, Helen picked up the remote and muted the television. “Mabel, darling, would you take Elizabeth to the kitchen and get her something to eat? I need to talk to Jack alone for a few minutes.”
    She took my arm, marched me to her study, and shut the door. The study was the place where you talked to Helen, poured your heart out, and knew that whatever you said would never leave the room. Whether it was trouble at home, at school, or with a girl, Helen’s study was where you went to confession and found absolution in a mother’s love, without the complication of a real mother. I realized that, for the first time, the roles had been reversed.
    Her hands reached out as they had so many times when I was young. The last couple of days had certainly taken their toll, especially around her eyes. They were etched with worry lines and ringed with dark circles. I held her silently for a long moment before we sat together on the worn, familiar sofa.
    â€œWell, Mrs. Cole, here I am.”
    Her eyes filled with tears as she said, “Here you are. By the grace of God, here you are. I know how hard it must be for you to come back.” I avoided going there and said, “How are you doing?”
    â€œOh, Jack. I’m a mess. For now, I’ve just got to stay calm and try to sort things out as best I can. There’s got to be a way to make sense of this. We’re all Philip has; you know that.”
    She was holding an embroidered handkerchief in her hands—I can’t remember a time during any of our “sessions” when she hadn’t