I FIND CLAYTON SITTING on his bed in the cell at the end of the hall. The Myerton Police Department jail is small, but I know from personal experience that the cells are not terrible. He’s sitting on the cot, reading, oblivious to my presence.
I clear my throat. He looks up and says calmly, “Thank you for seeing me, Father.”
The guard lets me in and I sit down beside him. I don’t say anything, Clayton says, “It looks like you’re doing well.“
“Yes,” I say, “everything is healing up nicely. I only needed a few stitches. No permanent damage.”
“Father, I don’t expect this to make any big difference, but I am sorry for stabbing you. That was never my intention. I just wanted to scare them into letting me go.”
“I believe you, Clayton,” I said. “One of the reasons I did what I did was I didn
