It was a full minute before I could speak, and then my voice was soft and choked.
“Poor woman.”
He turned on me with a shocked look, then quickly away again, eyes bright with tears.
“I’m sorry,” I cried, “I know what she did was awful—”
“No, you don’t understand,” he said. “I haven’t told many people about Deborah. But of those few, you are the first to show any kind of compassion for her.” The tears were coming hard now, despite his best efforts. “I loved her. I still—I still—She couldn’t help what she was, any more than I can—She never hurt a child in her life—I was eighteen—If only I’d talked to her, explained, explained that it was okay, that we wouldn’t be doing anything wrong—”
Hesitantly, I stepped nearer, put my hand on his bony child’s shoulder, and to my surprise he didn’t p
