"A couple, three accidents," Hank said, his unblinking eyes bearing down on the boy. "Telling DSS what really happened will help you keep custody of your son," Jonah persisted. "You could take him home with you — provided, of course, your wife isn’t living with you anymore." Hank blinked once, but never stopped staring at Sam. "We had a run of bad luck. But I’m gonna be around a hell of a lot more. Keep track of things. Keep you safe." Sam looked up at his father. Jonah could see hope clouding the boy’s eyes. The poor kid was thinking things really might be different this time, that maybe he should keep his secret. "Go ahead, Sam," Jonah said. "Tell him." Sam looked down again. "You have all the power," Jonah said. He waited for Sam to look at him. "But you have to use it." Sam gazed into Jonah’s eyes several seconds, as if recharging a weak battery running his soul. He turned to his father. "You know how she is to me," he said. You know how she is to me. Jonah’s scalp tingled. Sam had spoken just those seven words, but the words were no less moving to Jonah than the Declaration of Independence or the Emancipation Proclamation or Jesus’ words from the cross. Because with them, beaten and abused Sam Garber, shackled to a life that was no life, had suddenly and irrevocably declared himself free, declared himself alive.
