It will make it easier, David thinks. No lingering goodbyes, just a mad dash across the gravel and away from the Virginia Rail. “So,” he says to his father, “it’s settled, then. I’ll talk to Carly, and you’ll have two weeks to square things with Blanchard. OK?” Neil turns. “You’re sure you want to do this?” he asks, again. “I don’t even know if they’ll let me, the parole office and all …” David walks the long step toward him and takes him by the shoulders, a strangely physical move for his son, Neil thinks. “Again: Let me worry about that, Dad. We’ll get it done.” Neil nods again. “Two weeks,” David says again, and then he runs into the rain. In seconds, he’s headed north. They’ve had time enough to talk already. After Blanchard left the room “to make myself presentable,” they were alone for an hour. At first, Neil only wanted to deny that any of it had happened the way Blanchard said. “If you’ve got any sympathy,” he told David at last, “save it for that state trooper.
