Eleven
“COME IN, FATHER,” SHARON Becket says when she opens the door Monday morning.
Helen decided to wait until today to question Nate further, deciding the young man had already been through enough. For his part, Nate’s public defender finally met with him, apparently having been given the case that morning. She was young, looked like she was only a few years out of law school, and had little optimism about Nate’s prospects for bail.
I’d had to forgo Nate’s arraignment and bail hearing for this meeting. I would have liked to have been with Nate, to offer him moral support, but the Beckets had asked to meet with me to discuss Ashley’s funeral.
“How are you, Sharon?” I say, giving her a quick pastoral hug.
“Numb,” she says with a ragged sigh. “I think I’m out of tears. Now, I’m just n
