Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Priest

The introduction I got was nice, but it didn’t even brush on the reality of who I am and what I’ve done. It’s my mission to blow their little minds, and I can do it so easily that I won’t even break a proverbial sweat. “Thank you to Mr.Powell, Mr.Reitgarten, and Mrs.Henry for inviting me here today. They wanted me to tell you about myself. Now, look at me. I look like a kinda boring guy, right?”

There’s a twittering from the crowd of middle schoolers, and then I hear a little voice say, “Kara thinks you’re hot.”

My head whips toward the voice until my eyes find her, a little redhead sitting about three rows back in the bleachers, and I smile. “You can tell Kara that I said thanks, but I’m pretty sure I’m a little too old for her.” That makes them all laugh. “Actually, I’m older than any of you think I am. I’m forty-seven.” There’s a collective gasp that almost makes me laugh. “Yeah. Not having to be out in the world fending for myself for a long time left me with a baby face, but what it didn’t do to my face it did to my heart. There was a time when I wasn’t a very nice guy. Matter of fact, I was a horrible person, and I know that no matter what I do, that horrible person is still inside me. All I can do is love people until he can’t come out. So let me tell you who I am and where I’ve been.

“My name is DariusFowler, but most people call me Priest. But before I got that nickname, they called me Doom, because anybody who had to deal with me was doomed. I was seven when my dad was killed in a robbery gone wrong and, no, he wasn’t the one being robbed. He was the one doing the robbing. See, he was a member of a gang in south Chicago called the Masters of Sin, and they were a bad bunch. When he was killed, it left my mom with three kids to feed and no money. I was the youngest. My older sister was already dealing drugs, and my brother, who was the oldest in the family, was already part of the gang at fourteen. On top of that, my dad had kids with two other women, and some of them were members of the gang too. I will say, the gang members took care of all of us, made sure we had food, a place to live, clothes and shoes, but they didn’t care about education, so sometimes we went to school and sometimes we didn’t.

“I started helping my sister deal when I was twelve. We made enough money to help keep food on the table. That was important. When I was fourteen, the gang started recruiting me, and it wasn’t long before they figured out that I was angry deep down inside. That kind of anger can make you do bad things, horrible things, and there was nobody to help me work it out. They sure didn’t. They only wanted to harness it to get what they wanted, so they handed me a gun somebody stole off the street and took me into the gang.

“By the time I was fifteen, I’d helped to rob a chain of grocery stores. A couple of the other members were killed during that time, and I was with the brothers when they went after the rival gang who took them out. It wasn’t too long before I got a reputation for being cold and quick. I was a good shot too, and they really valued that.

“Because when I was seventeen, they tapped me to take out a rival gang kingpin. When we got to the bar where they hung out, the manager didn’t want to let us in so right there, in broad daylight, I put a gun to his head and shot him dead.” There’s a collective gasp around the gymnasium. “I never flinched. Never gave it a second thought. By the time we were through, twelve of the members of the other gang were dead. We threw a party that night. It was time to celebrate. We’d made our mark and everybody knew who we were.

“Especially the waitress in the bar. She made a mental note of what I looked like because, that man I shot? That was her father. The cops were already pretty sure who killed him, but she picked me out of a lineup and that was that. And I was convicted of first-degree murder and sentenced to twenty-eight years in maximum security.” I look around at the wide eyes staring at me. “Anybody know what that’s like?”

I see movement, and turn to find a boy of about twelve with his hand up, so I nod to him. With no hesitation, he says, “It means you have to wear the clothes they give you, and the shoes, and you can’t have shoes with laces. They’re like shower shoes. And you can’t touch anybody. Your family has to talk to you through glass. And you’re always in danger―always. All the time. You can never rest because you’re scared of the people around you. The food is awful. You don’t get to spend hardly any time outside. It’s pretty bad.” I don’t dare ask this child how he knows these things, but I can see half a dozen kids nodding almost imperceptibly as he speaks. Poverty is rampant in these mountains, and so is crime, drug use, and dealing. I’d wager he’s not the only kid here who’s talked to his parent through a visitation stall phone receiver.

“That’s all true. Every bit of it. You have to form alliances in there, make friends, or you have to be strong enough to intimidate people into leaving you alone. I was seventeen. I thought I was a real bad guy, a real tough guy, you know? But it turned out that I was just a seventeen-year-old kid in a maximum security prison with a bunch of hardened guys who didn’t care that I’d been a gangbanger. It was tough. I was beaten up. Stabbed. Choked. Assaulted in other ways that we won’t talk about.” If I had a dime for every time I was raped the first three years, I’d be rich even now, but I’m not about to tell them that. “They gave us jobs, and I always wound up with the most disgusting ones. Some great big guy would go into a bathroom stall and blow the place up, and I’d wind up being the guy who had to go in there and scrape all that mess off the walls, wash it down, clean it up. There were times when I couldn’t eat because I was so sick at my stomach from cleaning like that.”

A hand shoots up from across the room, and I nod to the little girl. “Why didn’t you tell somebody what was happening? Isn’t it against the law for them to treat you that way?”

“Who was I going to tell? One of the things I learned real quick was that once you walk through those doors, nobody cares about you. Nobody. You’re nothing. That dog poop you accidentally stepped in? I was less than that. I wasn’t human anymore. I was just a thing. Those first three years… Every day, I thought about killing myself because I couldn’t believe I could survive twenty-eight years of that. It just wasn’t possible. You know what saved me?” Nobody moves. “Reading. Reading saved my life. How many of you like to read?” About half of the hands in the gym come up. “That’s what saved me. Reading. They had a library, and I started reading anything I could get my hands on. People donate a lot of self-help books to prisons, and most of them aren’t worth two cents. But I found one, and it changed my life. It was called The Act of Responsibility by AdolphusLee. Anybody ever heard of it?” Every head in the gym shakes. “It’s ten rules for living a good life. Anybody want to guess what the first one is?”

Hands shoot up all over the gym, and I point to a kid who looks too old to be in middle school. “Go to church?”

“Not even close. As a matter of fact, it doesn’t mention religion at all. What it talks about is the person. And the very first rule was simple: The person who is responsible for your behavior is you. In other words, I could’ve blamed my behavior on the fact that my dad was killed, or that he was a criminal, or I could’ve blamed it on the gang, but the bottom line was simply that I chose my behavior, and I had no one to thank or blame for it but me. And I learned that no one makes me mad. I choose to be mad. I can choose to not be mad.” I can see some of them trying to follow what I’m saying. “So let’s say somebody hits you. Does that make you mad? What do you do?”

A little girl in the fourth row raises her hand and when I point to her, she says, “I tell the teacher.”

“And what if there was no teacher to tell? Because in prison, I didn’t have that. All I had was myself and my fists. But what I learned to do was to tell the person who hit me that I wasn’t going to hit them back. I just wasn’t going to. They could kill me, but I wouldn’t hit them back. And I didn’t. They all thought I was a real weirdo because I didn’t fight them. But I just wouldn’t. After a while, when they found out they couldn’t get me to fight, they just left me alone. And then a funny thing happened.

“Guys started asking me what was going on. Why wasn’t I fighting? So I started talking to them about the book and the ten principles. Being responsible for myself. Being responsible for the parts of my environment that I could control―basically, keeping my own area and myself clean and neat. Showing respect to other humans even if it wasn’t earned. Pretty soon, guys were coming to me with their problems, and not just problems inside the prison. Some of them were losing their wives and kids. Some had parents who wouldn’t have anything to do with them. Some had serious illnesses. Some were dying. And the act of responsibility helped me relate to them.

“I used it with the guards too. I called them ‘Yes, sir,’ and ‘No, sir,’ even though they didn’t treat me fairly. I did what I was told, respected their authority. When I was told to do something wrong, I respectfully declined. Got a few beatings for it, went to solitary. But something really strange happened. They started to respect me too. After they watched me for a while, they realized I tried hard to diffuse situations. I tried to curtail fights. I tried to protect weaker prisoners. One guard whose wife had filed for divorce sat down with me one evening and we talked for a long time. After that, they started talking to me about their lives, ways they could handle things better, and they really started to respect me.

“So I started a little group. Guess you could call it a gang if you wanted, but not like the gangs on the outside. To be a Guardian, which is what I called them, you had to be respectful. Not fighting all the time. Helping out. Doing what you were asked. Showing kindness to weaker inmates. Working to diffuse bad situations. I finally got called into the warden’s office, and he wanted to know what I was doing, so I told him. Before I left the prison, I had fifty-two guys who were working with me, and I was regularly called for meetings with other wardens of other facilities about starting Guardian programs in their prisons. To this day, I still get calls from my old warden, just asking how I’m doing, chatting. We’re not friends. We’re two human beings who show each other mutual respect and take responsibility for the role we play in each other’s lives.

“My message to you today is to start right now. Take responsibility for yourself, for your own actions, for your own words, for how you relate to other people. Take responsibility for learning. If you do that, and you treat people the way you’d want to be treated, you won’t have to worry about landing in prison with a twenty-eight-year sentence for killing a man, because you’ll respect human life so much that taking a life will be unthinkable to you. That’s my message to you today.” With that, I step back from the podium, sweep my hand toward it as I turn to Mr.Powell, the principal, and take a seat beside Mrs.Henry.

That’s when I notice it. Total silence. Not one person in the room has moved, and no one is speaking. When Mr.Powell speaks, I finally feel like I can take a breath. “I want to thank Mr.Fowler for coming here today and talking to you. Some of you in this room are on a fast-track straight to prison. You know who you are. Don’t do it. Remember what Mr.Fowler has said here today. He doesn’t want that for you, and neither do any of us. I know some of you are living in bad situations. Maybe you’re being beaten, knocked around. Maybe there’s no money and you’re hungry. Maybe you feel like you have no one you can talk to, trust, or rely on. That’s not true. Not at all. We’re all here to help you if you’ll just let us, but you have to take enough responsibility for yourself to tell us what you need. We’re not mind readers, but we’ll do what we can if we know what you need. Thank you again, Mr.Fowler,” he says and turns to me with a nod.

“You’re very welcome. Thank you for having me.”

“Okay, it’s third period now. For some of you, it’s almost lunchtime, so everybody go check in at their classrooms and go on about your day.” I watch as the principal steps over to a couple of the teachers who sat with their classes, talks for a second, and then comes back. Everyone with me stands, and Mr.Powell comes to shake my hand. So does Mr.Reitgarten, the assistant principal.

The last one is Mrs.Henry, the social studies teacher who originally requested that I come. She’s got a pleasant face, and her perfume is light and reminds me of spring. “Thank you so much, Mr.Fowler. I really appreciate you coming today. Some of these kids… I’m really worried about them. They’re not going to make it, no matter what we do.”

“Ah, but remember, it’s up to them. Personal responsibility. You can only take care of your responsibility to them. They have to want to take responsibility for themselves, and that includes reaching out. That’s all anybody can do.”

She nods and smiles. “You’re so right. It’s just hard to watch kids so young make such stupid mistakes.”

I nod. “Yeah, especially when you know they’re not getting any support at home.”

Her gaze is cast at the floor as she shakes her head slowly. “Don’t I know it. I don’t understand how folks cannot care one bit about their own kids. I just don’t understand it. But they don’t. Let ’em run wild, don’t pay any attention to ’em, don’t help ’em with homework, don’t wash their clothes. Got no food in the house, but they sure got beer and drugs.”

“Yeah, I know how that is. Well, I reckon I need to be gettin’ on back to work, but thank you again for having me. I was glad to do it, Mrs.Henry.”

“It’s MissHenry, but you can call me Aggie. And thanks again, Mr.Fowler.”

I smile. “Aww, it’s just Darius, and you’re welcome. Y’all take care.” I pat her shoulder as I walk past, but when I get to the door, I turn to look back at her.

She’s walking away, and lawd, that woman’s got an ample caboose. It jiggles as she walks, and that’s a lot of jiggling, because she’s got a serious limp. That’s when I notice the little flat shoes she’s wearing, while a lot of the other teachers are wearing low heels. AggieHenry― Miss Aggie Henry. Hmmm. There’s something there to unpack.

And I find myself wondering if I’d like to be the one to unpack it.

Aggie

Oh, lawd, that man is fine!

And the things he said… I never thought I’d say I respect a convicted murderer, but I do. It’s obvious to anyone who takes a minute to talk to him that DariusFowler has his act together. He’s a smart man. Seems kind too. I’m real curious about him.

The class I have in this time slot doesn’t have lunch for an hour―our cafeteria is so small that we have to go in shifts―so the kids will be waiting for me when I get to the classroom. On the way, Deborah, one of the math teachers, stops me. “Something I think you should know,” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“That guy? The one who spoke?” I nod. “He was checking out your ass as you were walking away.”

“Deborah! Oh my lawd, girl! Stop that!”

“Nope. It’s true. I saw it. Cathy did too. Ask her.” She grins and winks as she walks away.

I’m still a little in shock when I walk into the classroom, and all the kids are there, waiting. “Hey, y’all. Okay, so yesterday, I gave you an assignment. You were supposed to go home, think about it, and decide if your family is a matriarchal society or a patriarchal society, then write two pages about it. Anybody want to share?” The room is silent for a minute, and then Annie raises her hand. “Yes, ma’am. Go ahead.”

The girl stands, a paper in her hand. “I was ’posed to decide if my family is a matriarchal or patriarchal society. Mine is matriarchal. My mom works all day. She’s not home when I get home from school, but my older brother is. Afore she leaves for work, she lays out stuff for us to fix for dinner and instructions on how to do it if it’s somethin’ we ain’t never had before. We sometimes have stuff like that ’cause she could get it at the food pantry at the Methodist church. When she comes home, it’s usually just the three of us eatin’, ’cause Daddy’s on the sofa, drunk, and he’s been there all day. All he’s done is drink since the mine closed down, and he can’t find no job. Mama does everythin’ and she makes all the rules, and he just drinks and sleeps. So, really, he’s not even there. Not really. I dunno why she don’t just kick him out. That means my house is definitely a matriarchal society. My mama’s daddy died when she was a little girl, and her mama had to do the same thing, so I reckon that’s how she knows what to do. She grew up in a matriarchal society too.”

I nod sadly. “I think your observations are spot-on, Annie. Matriarchal societies occur because of any combination of three things. Write this down; this will be on the test. Number one, they either come about because the women are stronger and more dominant and the men are willing to cede control to them. It’s spelled c-e-d-e―that means give in. Or, number two, they come to power because the men are either lazy or busy and don’t want to be, or can’t be, responsible. That’s common if the men are hunting for meat, raising livestock, or raising crops. And number three is if there are no men.”

Glendon’s hand shoots up, and I nod to him. “How can that be? That there ain’t no men? ’Cause you gotta have men to have babies.”

“That’s a good question, Glendon. It can happen when there’s been a war and most of the men have been lost in battle. It’s happened several times in ancient days, and it also happened during the Civil War. Whole communities lost virtually every man except for the old or sick men or the little boys. The women learned how to take care of themselves and everybody else too. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, and some of the other kids nod.

“Anyone else want to share?”

I spend the rest of the hour listening to kids talk about their families, and it’s heartbreaking. Over two-thirds of my students are poverty-stricken and living in a home with at least one parent who’s an alcoholic or addict and doesn’t or can’t work. I don’t care if he checked out my ass or not―I’m glad Mr.Fowler came and spoke to them this morning. If what he said can change the life of just one kid, every bad thing he ever did will be redeemed.

And that’s the moment I admit to myself that I desperately want to know more about this man.

Priest

“So how’d it go?” Patch asks when I get back to the shop.

“I think it went well. Some of those kids… Man, they don’t have two nickels to rub together. Worn-out shoes, raggedy clothes, and skinny. So fuckin’ skinny, man. You can tell by looking at them that they’re not gonna make it.”

“Maybe because of what you said this morning one will, and that’ll be worth it, right?”

I nod. “Yeah. I mean, this one little boy… I asked if anybody knew what prison was like, and it was obvious he’s talked to somebody in his family through a visitor’s booth window. Just so, so sad.”

“Yep. I’m glad you went there to talk to them. That’s something we can do that doesn’t cost us anything except a little time, helps out the community, and gives us visibility.” He points toward my spot in the loft. “I think Paddy has something ready for you to work on. Blade. He went ahead and cut the strips like you like them, so it’s all set.” He starts to turn away, but I lay a hand on his forearm. “Yeah?”

“Hey, listen, there was this teacher… MissHenry. You’ve lived here a little longer than us. Do you―”

“Know her? No. But I know somebody who probably does.” I hike up my eyebrows and wait. “Tinsley. Hell, she knows everybody. Does the woman have hair?”

I laugh. “Yeah.”

“Then Tins probably knows her.”

“Uh, she’s black.”

“What? You don’t think Tins can handle a sister’s hair? You’d better adjust your thinking, buddy. Tins can handle anything .” Patch is laughing as he walks away, and I make a mental note: Ask Tinsley about AggieHenry. He’s likely right.

If anybody around here knows her, it would be Tinsley.

Tinsley’s trying to get all her customers caught up before she has the baby, which meant she worked so late Friday night that she wasn’t home before I finished dinner. She worked all day yesterday, and she was so tired both days that Bulldog just took their food to the cottage and ate over there with her.

We’ve all gathered in the kitchen for Sunday dinner, and Mavis and Penny have been working all morning on it. Izzy was on duty last night, so she was asleep until about an hour ago and couldn’t help. Tinsley just walked in, so I don’t want to ask her anything yet. I’ll let her eat and catch up with her after lunch.

Baked ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, broccoli casserole, pinto beans, homemade rolls, peach pie. Lawd, these women can cook! Looks like AuntSarah made the rolls. They’re these pretty things that were twisted before they were baked, and they’re not just tasty―they’re fancy-looking too. We’re all sitting around, laughing and talking, when the doors open and two people step in. I recognize them immediately. From across the room I hear Reboot say, “Mom? Dad? What are you guys doing here?”

“We need to talk to you,” his dad says, and his tone is strained.

“Oh my god. What’s wrong? Is somebody sick? Grandma and―”

“No. Everybody’s fine.”

“Paul? Danny?”

“They’re fine, Derek.” His dad’s voice is almost threatening, and his mom is kind of cowering. Ohhh, this is not good. “This has to do with you.”

I’m worried about Reboot. I can see the panic on his face. “Okay, so, what is it? What’s wrong?”

His dad stares at him. “Do you know a woman named ClaraGoodman?”

“Uhhh, yeah. I did. She worked at the hospital when I was bringing patients in and out.”

“Did you ever have sex with her?”

Oh, Jesus. I think I know where this is going.

“Um, couple of times.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Obviously before I went to prison, so eleven years ago? Twelve years ago? Thirteen years ago?”

“And why didn’t you have a relationship with her?”

“She moved away.”

“You didn’t try to track her down?”

“Why would I do that? We’d only been out a couple of times. She didn’t even say goodbye. When I found out she was gone, she’d already been gone for a couple of months.”

“So you had indiscriminate sex with her and didn’t even realize she was gone?”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Reboot barks. “My personal life is none of your business! I’m a grown-ass man, and if I want to sleep with somebody, that’s my business, not yours.”

“Oh, yeah? How ’bout this?” His dad reaches into a folder I hadn’t even noticed he was carrying and pulls something out, then plops it down on the table in front of Reboot. It’s a picture, and my suspicion is confirmed in that split second.

It’s a picture of a boy. An older boy. And he fucking looks just like Reboot.

“What the… Who is that?”

“It appears,” his dad says smugly, “he’s your son.”

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room, and nobody is moving or making a sound. Finally, Reboot mumbles, “My… son?”

“Yeah. Your son. And I know he’s yours, because Colorado CPS let me do a DNA test using my DNA against his. I didn’t want to say anything to you until I knew for sure, because I didn’t want you accusing us of accusing you of something you didn’t do. But you definitely did this. That’s your kid.”

Reboot’s eyes are kinda glassy, but he stands. Ghost is sitting beside him and stands with him. “Colorado? I don’t understand―”

“Apparently when she found out she was pregnant, she moved back to Colorado to be with her parents.”

For the first time, his mother speaks. “Paul, be honest with him. Son, she moved back there because her parents were in poor health. I’m guessing she didn’t want the boy to have to split time between her and you, so she never said anything, just raised him by herself.”

“Thank you, Bethany,” Derek’s dad spits.

“I’m not going to let you try to make him feel bad! He didn’t know!”

“Should’ve kept it in his pants,” PaulColvin says.

Everybody jumps a little when Reboot shouts, “Enough! I don’t give a damn about any of that! Why all of a sudden has she decided to say something?”

“She’s dead,” Mr.Colvin announces.

Reboot’s eyes go wide. “Whaaa… What?”

“She died. Pancreatic cancer. She had directives that when she died, the authorities were supposed to contact you. Thing is, they had no idea where you were or what had happened to you, so they contacted us. They’re looking for a home for him. And I’ll tell you right now, we’re too old. If you expect us to raise your kid for you, then―”

“No! I don’t expect that at all! I would’ve already been doing that myself if I had known! I need the contact information. I need to call whoever’s in charge. He can’t go into foster care. I won’t let that happen. I have to―” He turns to look at Patch.

Our captain nods. “If it’s up to me, the answer is yes. But I think there’s somebody else you need to ask first.”

Every person in the room turns to look at Mavis as she stands over by the stove, leaning back against the counter with her hands braced behind her on the countertop. As soon as her eyes meet Reboot’s, she nods and smiles through her tears, and he turns back to his parents. “Give me the info. I’ll have him here by the end of the week if they’ll let me.”

His dad plunks the folder down on the table, covering the picture. “There. You’ve got what I have.” Then he turns and heads out the door.

“You don’t have to go. You drove a long way. You can stay the night. We have plenty of room,” Reboot calls out to him.

Mr.Colvin looks back at him over his shoulder. “Why? We don’t want to stick around here.” His mom looks back too, and it’s plain to see that she doesn’t share her husband’s feelings on that. “Why would we stay here? I shouldn’t have to tell you that we’re really disappointed in you, Derek.”

“Disappointed in me?” I can hear the fury in Reboot’s voice. “Look around, Dad. Every man in this room, every woman in this room, they’re all supporting me. None of them are disappointed in me. I’d like to think they’re happy for me.” Heads are nodding everywhere in the kitchen, and I’m so proud to be one of them. “And you see that beautiful woman right over there?” he says, pointing at Mavis. “She’s been fretting for a good while now because she can’t have children, and she thinks someday I won’t love her because I’ll resent the fact that I don’t have kids. And now I have a kid! And she’ll have a kid! Do you have any idea how happy the two of us are right this minute? What a gift you just walked in and gave us? I’ve given you a grandchild! And you’re disappointed in me? I’m disappointed in you , and I realize now that all those things you’ve said over the years from that pulpit, all that love and forgiveness crap? You don’t mean any of it! You read all about Jesus and who he was and what he did and what he taught, and you get up there in that pulpit and spout it, and you haven’t learned ANY of it! And you don’t exhibit ANY of it! None!”

“Son …” Mrs. Colvin begins.

“No, Mom. Don’t take up for him. Don’t make excuses for him. He’s a world-class hypocrite, and somebody needs to call him out on it! And I’m just the foul-mouthed motherfucker to do it! Go on home, Dad! Prove me right! Let me know how little you love me and care about me! You didn’t learn a fucking thing the last time you were here!” Reboot’s getting more and more worked up, and I don’t blame him.

Patch stands slowly, arms at his sides and his posture very relaxed, but the words that come out of his mouth are laced with venom, and nobody misses that. “Mr.and Mrs.Colvin, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. This is Derek’s home, and I won’t allow him to be talked to this way. It’s time for you to go.”

“That’s ReverendColvin,” Reboot’s dad mutters.

“No, sir. I reserve that title for people who’ve earned it, and you haven’t, at least not from where I stand,” Patch says just as calmly as anything.

Mr.Colvin turns to glare at Reboot again. “‘For the wages of sin is death,’ son,” he says. I know that scripture well.

“Yeah, and you know what the gift of eternal life through Christ our Lord is, dad? It’s love, the kind of love that keeps you alive in the hearts and minds of the people you loved even after you’re gone. You haven’t learned that lesson. Go home, Dad, and take your hate with you.” Reboot lifts his arm slowly, his finger pointing at the door.

Bethany looks back at her son again. “I love you, son.”

“I love you too, Mom, but as long as you keep letting all this hatred accompany you everywhere you go… Just go on home. I’ll let your grandson know who you are and where you live. When he’s old enough to do it on his own, he can contact you if he wants. I won’t stop him,” he says, then gives his dad a dead-eyed stare. “But I won’t help him.”

The sound of the door closing behind them echoes in the room, and we all sit there, exhausted from the exchange. I notice movement, and very slowly, Mavis comes to stand beside Reboot, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I love you, baby,” she whispers, and the room is so quiet that we can hear her every word. “I’m so sorry it had to happen this way, but I’m so happy right now that I’m about to bust. You have a son! We’re going to have a kid!”

Reboot’s arms encircle her and he kisses the top of her head. “You have a son too.” He looks around the room. “Guys, we’re going to need a lot of help.”

Hollywood is the first one to speak. “We’ve got the money. Anything you need―anything―you’ll get. Tomorrow, you need to call Steve first. He can tell you everything to do and the order to do it in. And you need to call Tony and Nikki. I can tell you without hesitation that they’re going to be thrilled to have another grandchild, and that’s exactly what he’ll be to them.”

Reboot’s eyes fill with tears. “You think so?”

Audrey starts to laugh. “You just try keeping NeeneeWalters away from that kid! She’ll have an interior designer in here doing a bedroom for him before you can spit!”

“Boy, that’s sure true. That one is a force of nature!” I say, laughing, and pretty soon, the whole room is filled with laughter. Everybody’s hugging Reboot and Mavis, wishing them well, congratulating them, and I call out, “Hey, what’s his name?”

Reboot picks up the folder, opens it, and reads through one of the documents. “His name…” His voice is so broken that we can barely understand him through his tears. “My son’s name is Martin Lanson Goodman, and he’s twelve years old.”

As everybody is talking and laughing, I notice something that I don’t think anybody else has. Fiona is across the room, speaking quietly with Audrey, and the girl isn’t scowling. I would’ve figured that a twelve-year-old boy would draw her ire, but she’s almost smiling, and I realize then how lonely she must be out here with only Taylor around. This boy will be closer to her age―not close, but closer―and she’ll finally have another teenage kid out here. He’ll be good for her. And when Paddy’s youngest is here, he’ll have fun with this boy.

Martin will be good for us all.