that would lead us to be such different men. 'My grandfather's been gone a long time, and I still miss him,' I admitted.
'I never met mine,' Shay said. 'But I must have had one, right?'
I looked at him quizzically. What kind of life had he suffered, to have to craft memories from his imagination? 'Where did you grow up.
Shay?' I asked.
'The light,' Shay replied, ignoring my question. 'How does a fish know where it is? I mean, things shift around on the floor of the ocean, right? So if you come back and everything's changed, how can it really be the place you were before?'
The door to the tier buzzed, and one of the officers came down the catwalk, carrying a metal stool. 'Here you go. Father,' he said, settling it in front of Shay's cell door. 'Just in case you want to stay awhile.'
I recognized him as the man who had sought me out the last time
I'd been here, talking to Lucius. His baby daughter had been critically ill; he credited Shay with her recovery. I thanked him, but waited until he'd left to talk to Shay again.
'Did you ever feel like that fish?'
Shay looked at me as if I were the one who couldn't follow a linear conversation. 'What fish?' he said.
'Like you can't find your way back home?'
I knew where I was heading with this topic-straight to true salvation-but Shay took us off course. 'I had a bunch of houses, but only one home.'
He'd been in the foster care system; I remembered that much from the trial. 'Which place was that?'
'The one where my sister was with me. I haven't seen her since I was sixteen. Since I got sent to prison.'
I remembered he'd been sent to a juvenile detention center for arson, but I hadn't remembered anything about a sister.
'Why didn't she come to your trial?' I asked, and realized too late that I had made a grave mistake-that there was no reason for me to know that, unless I had been there.
But Shay didn't notice. 'I told her to stay away. I didn't want her to tell anyone what I'd done.' He hesitated. 'I want to talk to her.'
'Your sister?'
'No. She won't listen. The other one. She'll hear me, after I die.
Every time her daughter speaks.' Shay looked up at me. 'You know how you said you'd ask her if she wants the heart? What if I asked her myself?'
Getting June Nealon to come visit Shay in prison would be like moving Mt. Everest to Columbus, Ohio. 'I don't know if it will work...'
But then again, maybe seeing June face-to-face would make Shay see the difference between personal forgiveness and divine forgiveness.
Maybe putting the heart of a killer into the chest of a child would showliterally- how good might blossom from bad. And the beat of Claire's pulse would bring June more peace than any prayer I could offer.
Maybe Shay did know more about redemption than I.
He was standing in front of the cinder-block wall now, trailing his fingertips over the cement, as if he could read the history of the men who'd lived there before him.
Til try,' I said.
There was a part of me that knew I should tell Maggie Bloom that I had been on the jury that convicted Shay Bourne. It was one thing to keep the truth from Shay; it was another to compromise whatever legal case
Maggie was weaving together. On the other hand, it was up to me to make sure that Shay found peace with God before his death. The minute I told Maggie about my past involvement with Shay, I knew she'd tell me to get lost, and would find him another spiritual advisor the judge couldn't find fault with. I had prayed long and hard about this, and for now, I was keeping my secret. God wanted me to help
Shay, or so I told myself, because it kept me from admitting that I wanted to help Shay, too, after failing him the first time.
The ACLU office was above a printing shop and smelled like fresh ink and toner. It was filled with plants in various stages of dying, and filing cabinets took up most of the floor space. A paralegal sat at a reception desk, typing so furiously that I almost expected her computer screen to detonate. 'How can I help,' she said, not bothering to look up.
I'm here to see Maggie Bloom.'
The paralegal lifted her right hand, still typing with her left, and hooked a thumb overhead and to the left. I wound down the hallway, stepping over boxes of files and stacks of newspapers, and found Maggie sitting at her desk, scribbling on a legal pad. When she saw me, she smiled. 'Listen,' she said, as if we were old friends. 'I have some fantastic news. I think Shay can be hanged.' Then she blanched. 'I didn't mean fantastic news, really. I meant... well, you know what I meant.'
'Why would he want to do that?'
'Because then he can donate his heart.' Maggie frowned. 'But first we need to get the prison to agree to send him for tests, to make sure
I drew in my breath. 'Look. We need to talk.'
'It's not often I get a priest who wants to confess.'
She didn't know the half of it. This is not about you, I reminded myself, and firmly settled Shay in the front of my mind. 'Shay wants to be the one to ask June Nealon if she'll take his heart. Unfortunately, visiting him is not on her top-ten list of things to do. I want to know if there's some kind of court-ordered mediation we can ask for.'
Maggie raised a brow. 'Do you really think he's the best person to relay this information to her? I don't see how that will help our case...'
'Look, I know you're doing your job,' I said, 'but I'm doing mine, too. And saving Shay's soul may not be important to you, but it's critical to me. Right now. Shay thinks that donating his heart is the only way to save himself-but there's a big difference between mercy and salvation.'
Maggie folded her hands on her desk. 'Which is?'
'Well, June can forgive Shay. But only God can redeem him-and it has nothing to do with giving up his heart. Yes, organ donation would be a beautiful, selfless final act on earth-but it's not going to cancel out his debt with the victim's family, and it's not necessary to get him special brownie points with God. Salvation's not a personal responsibility.
You don't have to get salvation. You're given it, by Jesus.'
'So,' she said. 'I guess you don't think he's the Messiah.'
'No, I think that's a pretty rash judgment.'
'You're preaching to the choir. I was raised Jewish.'
My cheeks flamed. 'I didn't mean to suggest-'
'But now I'm an atheist.'
I opened my mouth, snapped it shut.
'Believe me,' Maggie said, 'I'm the last person in the world to buy into the belief that Shay Bourne is Jesus incarnate-'
'Well, of course not-'
'-but not because a messiah wouldn't inhabit a criminal,' she qualified. 'I can tell you right now that there are plenty of innocent people on death row in this country.'
I wasn't about to tell her that I knew Shay Bourne was guilty. I had studied the evidence; I had heard the testimony; I had convicted him.
'It's not that.'
'Then how can you be so sure he's not who everyone thinks he is?' Maggie asked.
'Because,' I replied, 'God only had one son to give us.'
'Right. And-correct me if I'm wrong-he was a thirty-three-year-old carpenter with a death sentence on his head, who was performing miracles left and right. Nah, you're right. That's nothing like Shay Bourne.'
I thought of what I'd heard from Ahmed and Dr. Perego and the correctional officers. Shay Bourne's so-called miracles were nothing like
