I didn’t know if Barbara was asking a rhetorical question or asking me about myself. I answered as if it were the latter, “The memory remains. Don’t silence her. Don’t ever blame her.”

“I won’t,” then Barbara amended, “I’ll try not to. I’ll try to love her unconditionally. I let them talk to Cissy by herself. It might be easier than…me being there. To talk about some things.”

“Sometimes strangers are best. They don’t carry the risk of…”

“Your family. Patrick told me about his ‘hiring’ you.”

“Oh. I guess I should have told you.”

“I don’t know. Cissy didn’t come to me. I’m glad…someone got involved. But Patrick, he doesn’t understand…how do you explain,” she faltered, “explain…this to a boy his age?”

“I don’t know. Hurt and shame…how do you explain it to anyone who’s never been battered by them?”

“Will you talk to him? I don’t expect you to perform miracles. He doesn’t understand that this isn’t a skinned knee that you just put a Band-aid on to make alright. Maybe he’ll listen to you in a way he won’t to me.”

“I’ll try,” I offered. “The best I might be able to do is convince him that some things are never over.”

“Perhaps next weekend? I need to spend some time with Cissy, and you and Patrick can go do something.”

“Yeah, I could do that,” I said, wondering what I could tell Patrick. When I was his age…when I was his age, Bayard was no longer content with just playing at forbidden boundaries.

“Thank you,” Barbara added softly.

The door that she had been waiting for opened. Two women, one I guessed to be a police officer and one a psychologist, ushered Cissy out.

“Mrs. Selby,” one of them said, “You can take Cissy home now.”

“Thank you,” Barbara said numbly.

Barbara let go of my hand to take hold of Cissy’s.

“Hi, Micky,” Cissy said.

“Hi,” I replied. I knelt down beside her. “Thank you. That was a very brave thing you did. He can’t hurt you now. He lied about Judy to make it seem like he was big and powerful, but he’s not. He can’t hurt you,” I repeated.

“Thanks, Micky. I’m not scared anymore.” But her voice was small and frightened and I saw her statement for the wish that it really was. Cissy hugged me, then reclaimed her mother’s hand.

“Come on, honey,” Barbara said. “Let’s go home.” She added, “I’ll call you sometime, Micky. I just have to get out of here now.”

I watched them as they went down the hall, not wanting to go with them. Instead, I walked back the way I came, giving Barbara and Cissy time to find their way home.

Another door opened and Warren Kessler, escorted by two police officers, came out of the room. He stared at me, a look of snide contempt on his face. “You’re crazy, Micky. I can’t believe the kind of lies you’re telling about me,” he said for the benefit of his spectators.

“I’ve told no lies,” I retorted shortly.

“You’re a pathetic man-hater.”

“Only certain men,” I said, then because I wanted to damage him, to put a hole in his contempt, “Colombé knows about Francois. And about you, by now. You might be safer in jail, Warren.”

Uncertainty flickered across his face for an instant. But his arrogance quickly returned. “You know I didn’t do it. You know you’re just a fucked-up dyke. You’re blaming me for what your cousin did to you.” His police escort started to lead him away. “You really wanted your cousin to do it. Now you’re just feeling guilty,” he threw at me.

O’Connor was right—for certain reasons, I could be a murderer. If I went to jail, it would still be better than letting this monster loose. My hatred and anger took over. I lunged at him.

But Joanne stepped between us and roughly pushed me against the wall. “No,” she said. “Let the law deal with him.”

“The law?” I demanded, watching him walk away down the hall. “I want justice.”

“So do I. But that’s what heaven and hell are for. Go home, Micky.”

“Let me get out of here,” I answered. There was nothing more I could do. My best, as Barbara’s had, would not save more than a tiny fragment of the world.

Joanne, still holding my arm, led me away. “Cordelia’s here. I called her.”

I started to say I didn’t want Cordelia to see my defeat, but then I saw her standing in the foyer. She was waiting, a tentative half-smile appeared when she realized I had noticed her. Kindness and love aren’t replacements for justice, but they still held some chance for redemption.

“Hello,” she said as we approached.

“Take her away from here,” Joanne told Cordelia.

Joanne let go of my arm, a bare nod as good-bye, then she left us.

“Are you okay?” Cordelia asked, touching my arm briefly where Joanne had been holding it.

“Partly,” I replied. I couldn’t pretend that I hadn’t been battered by what had happened.

“Is it enough?” she asked gently, as we walked out of the building.

“No,” I replied slowly. “It’s not. Not close. I want my past to turn into just that, past, gone. I hate that it hovers about, clawing at me. And over and over again, it happens to so many others. How many days—lives—do we spend repairing all the damage that’s done?”

“As many as it takes, I guess. Suffering and neglect are ongoing.”

“Do you ever want to stop fighting?” I asked her.

Cordelia didn’t say anything as we walked down the stairs. It wasn’t until we were on the sidewalk that she replied, “No. The most frustrating thing is that I have to set limits. I can’t be on call twenty-four hours a day, have to have some time for myself just to laugh, read, be with friends. And even if I did give everything I could give, some things are utterly beyond my power to change.”

“Men like Warren Kessler. I don’t know if I’ve stopped him. I don’t know if I’ve really changed anything. I wonder what little piece of the world I’ve salvaged.”

Cordelia looked at me, then said, “What you did give those girls, and others who have been hurt the way they have been, is that even if we don’t get justice, some of us still look for it. I don’t know if you can ask for much more than that.” She again touched my arm, gently leading me down a side street. Her car was parked in the middle of the block.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “If you’re decent and you work hard enough, you should be able to defeat evil.”

“You don’t think we ever do?”

“No. I feel like I’ve lost, like I shouldn’t even bother anymore.”

Cordelia was silent for a moment, then she replied, “Destroying something—or someone—is so much easier than creating or building. Or loving. As long as we occasionally win, and some of us always fight, then there’s a path to follow. I have no reason to be here if I don’t try to follow that path.” She unlocked her car and we got in. “Where can I take you?” she asked me.

“Home. Take me home,” I said as I settled in the passenger seat.

“If that’s what you want.” She nodded and started the car.

“Take me home with you,” I said. “That’s my answer. I want to…follow that path with you.”

“Yes,” she said, then, “Yes, I’ll take you with me.” She reached over, caught my hand, and held it. I grasped her hand in both of mine.

Then we let go, and Cordelia started the car.