Chapter 20: Her Door

My mother was on her porch in her church dress when the Sportster turned onto her street.

She had known he was coming.

I had called her from the truck, and she had said only, "Then I'll wait."

She stood at the top of the steps with her purse still on her arm.

Hank and I parked across the road, and I got out and stood by the fender.

I wasn't going to go to her.

This was hers.

Travis shut off the engine at the curb.

He walked up the path with his hands open at his sides, and at the foot of the steps he stopped.

Then he went down on both knees on her concrete walk.

A neighbor's curtain moved across the street.

"Mrs. Callahan," he said.

My mother didn't answer.

"I killed Danny," he said. "I was driving. I was drunk. I lied to you for eleven years, and I ate at your table, and I'm sorry."

Her purse slid down her arm to her hand.

"Stand up," she said.

"I'd rather not."

"I'm not going to hit you, Travis."

"I know."

"Stand up."

He stood, slowly, with his head down.

My mother looked at him, a long time.

She had been a bookkeeper at the lumber yard for thirty years, and she had the look of someone adding a column.

"Say his name," she said.

"Danny Callahan."

"Again."

"Danny Callahan."

"Louder. The whole street can hear."