When Shad and Dulsie were beginning to do things together that resembled “going out” more than just “hanging out,” Dulsie once commented at a restaurant how Shad had a rather “interesting” relationship with food. He was fearless of trying anything new, yet Shad was quick to turn down food, even his favorites, if it didn’t meet some kind of predetermined parameters he seemed to cherish – the biggest one, she noticed, being time to enjoy the meal at leisure. Shad used her comment as the springboard to begin sharing a few episodes about his abuse as a child.

Whenever Shad, at irregular intervals, did get fed, it was usually something dumped out of a can or a box. If he didn’t eat it quickly enough, the rather sorry food might be taken away. One time he tried to retrieve a half-eaten hamburger tossed into the trash can by a boyfriend. When the boyfriend caught Shad he flew into a rage and called Shad names like “greedy turd” and even more obscene as he twisted the boy’s arms behind his back and made him lick other things from the trash can.

When he moved in with the Delaneys, Shad was almost overwhelmed by the abundance of food. It not only grew out in the garden, it walked around on the farm or nearby farms. It was gathered from fields and the woods. It was pulled from rivers and ponds. More amazingly, it was brought into the kitchen and actually prepared into aromatic and filling meals that were provided on a regular basis. And what couldn’t be eaten immediately was stored in large freezers or canned or dried for later use.

Shad appreciated food too much to rush through it, squander it, or eat it in any way without enjoyment. His only regret about sharing this information with Dulsie at the restaurant was the fact Shad sort of compromised her own enjoyment of their meal.

Even now the vegetables Shad ate with his sandwich were a medley of seasoned okra, beans, tomatoes, onions and squash from the garden, which soon made Shad feel sufficiently full because his stomach had shrunk from the past couple of days. As Shad sipped on his glass of iced tea, Pap, who had allowed the meal to proceed in silence, leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head.

“I hate to admit it, but I’m gonna have to take a nap.” Pap rested his hands on the table. “Maddie wants us to pick her up this evening. What’re you gonna do until then?”

Shad regarded him a bit blankly. “I haven’t the foggiest.”

“Well, you’ll come up with something.” Pap got to his feet and carried his plate and utensils to the kitchen sink. “Do you mind putting this food away?”

“No. I’ll do it.”

Pap rinsed his dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. “I should be up in a couple of hours.” The glance he shot toward Shad was halfway stern. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Shad shook his head, and Pap walked up the stairs at the side of the kitchen.

He sipped on his tea for a few more minutes, and then Shad got up from the table to clear away everything they’d used for lunch. He then wandered over to the kitchen doorway and stared into the living room, feeling lost.

Yeah, he’d been reviewing divorce cases Shad had handled throughout his somewhat short career, but as Karl had pointed out, none of them were obvious. Shad supposed he could follow up on what became of some of these people, but since Mam and Pap didn’t have internet access, that wasn’t something he could do now.

Maybe Pap had some wood that needed splitting. Or maybe there were some weeds in Mam’s garden that needed to be pulled. But for some reason the idea of doing these activities fell flat as soon as Shad thought of them. At first he blamed the depression, but as Shad tried to come up with other ideas he realized he was seeking to do something with more ... purpose. He wanted to do more than just keep busy.

Shad found himself retrieving the pants he had left on one of the kitchen chairs before climbing up the stairs and returning to his old bedroom.

He hung his three suits in the closet, and then gathered the rest of his clothes, most of which qualified as needing to be washed.

As soon as Shad considered doing some laundry, he remembered Pap’s bloodied clothes in the sink and almost changed his mind. But then he gritted his teeth and took a deep breath, and carried the clothes back down the stairs and into the laundry room.

Shad opened the lid to the washer, started the water running, dumped in detergent, and dumped in his own clothes. Figuring he might as well do some of Mam’s and Pap’s clothes to top off the load, Shad pulled more laundry from the hamper before turning to the bloody jeans and shirt in the utility sink.

With a deep breath and a desire to shudder, Shad started scrubbing the material of Pap’s shirt together. The mixture of water and blood flowed over his hands, and Shad found himself scrubbing more slowly until he finally stopped and simply stared at Dulsie’s blood.

Her blood was literally on his hands. No, somebody else had done this. Shad had his part in it, but somebody else had almost taken Dulsie’s life. Who?

The rage stirred again. Shad’s grip on the material tightened. More watered-down blood trickled over his knuckles.

It was true he should have been home last night. Shad had withdrawn to give Dulsie space and time to come to grips with what she’d married. What she’d married. Shad remembered that distant look in her eyes when he arrived at the hospital. This wasn’t fair. Of all the disorders he had to be stricken with, why did it have to be this one? Why had he been led to believe it was gone, only to have it return? He should have been home last night. He should have taken the bullet. Why did Erin rescue him from one path of destruction only to have Shad wreak havoc upon her own family? Somebody shot Dulsie. Maybe it was because Shad chose to obey divine inspiration and become a lawyer. Maybe he had been mistaken. That power never spoke to him before or since – that is, until Shad discovered Wally.

Wally. Shad wadded another section of the shirt in his hands, squeezing out more bloody water.

This began with Wally. There was no such thing as coincidence. Shad had been maneuvered by unseen forces to discover Wally that day. But Shad was just a pawn. Why couldn’t he press criminal charges and be done with it? Why did he have to try to investigate Wally, to dig up evidence before he could have one more predator removed from some of society’s most helpless victims? Why did he have to meet with Wally only to have all the stress and frustration pry his disorder back out of latency? Shad was trying his best with all the limitations he had, yet apparently that wasn’t good enough. He had to be punished with something that pushed Dulsie away, and then she was shot. The sheriff would soon obtain that warrant to search Shad’s computer. How was he supposed to figure out who might try to kill him? Why did he have to find Wally?

A chill settled over Shad.

Wouldn’t it make sense that Wally would want him silenced? And speaking of silence, Wally was sitting awfully tight over there in St. Louis, apparently content with just waiting to see what Shad decided to do about him.

Or maybe Wally figured the best way to avoid any attention from the police if Shad wound up murdered would be to stay out of the picture altogether. Wally was a liar, but Shad was also convinced that Wally wasn’t a killer, at least with his own hands. It would take a few days to arrange a hit, especially since Wally most likely didn’t hang out with mobsters. This assailant was no pro, Pap said. What was the gunman’s motivation to accept this job? He wanted the money obviously, but did he need it to support a drug habit or gambling debts?

Only it had been Dulsie who was caught in the line of fire. Shad’s grip on the shirt became its tightest yet.

Shad couldn’t prosecute for child molestation, but he would be just as satisfied to put Wally away for attempted murder.