"What happened that day shouldn't have happened."

Terrence said nothing.

Haskell continued.

"I convinced myself your truck was the one we were looking for. After that, everything you did seemed to confirm it."

"Even when the facts didn't?"

Haskell looked down.

"Especially then."

Terrence leaned back.

That answer surprised him.

Haskell continued.

"When you refused the search, I thought you were hiding something. When you stayed calm, I thought you were too calm. When we didn't find anything, I thought we hadn't searched hard enough."

Terrence studied him.

"Do you understand what you're describing?"

"Confirmation bias."

"More than that."

Haskell nodded.

"I know."

Terrence thought about the cake.

"You remember what you said when you destroyed my mother's cake?"

Haskell's face tightened.

Terrence repeated it.

"'Should've thought about that before you got yourself stopped.'"

Haskell closed his eyes.

"I remember."

"I didn't get myself stopped."

"I know."

"You decided who I was before you spoke to me."

Haskell didn't argue.

Terrence continued.

"And when my badge fell out, you became afraid."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Haskell looked at him.

"Because I realized who you were."

Terrence shook his head.

"That's exactly the problem."

Haskell was silent.

"You shouldn't regret it because I was FBI. You should regret it because you would've done the same thing if I weren't."

For several seconds, no one in the room moved.

Finally Haskell nodded.

"You're right."

Terrence didn't tell him everything was forgiven.

He wasn't interested in manufacturing a perfect emotional ending.

An apology could matter without erasing consequences.

So he simply said:

"I hope you remember that."

Then he stood and left.

CHAPTER 14 — EVELYN'S SECOND CAKE

That Saturday, Terrence returned to his mother's house.

He carried a white bakery box.

Evelyn opened the door.

"What is that?"

"Your birthday cake."

"My birthday was two months ago."

"I know."

She laughed.

"Terrence, I already had another cake."

"That grocery-store cake was terrible."

"It wasn't terrible."

"It tasted like sweet drywall."

Evelyn laughed harder.

Terrence carried the box into the kitchen.

Danielle and her children were already there.

Uncle Raymond arrived twenty minutes later.

Terrence placed the cake on the dining-room table.

It was almost identical to the first one.

Vanilla.

Strawberry filling.

White frosting.

Gold lettering.

But this time, the bakery had written: