Perhaps the question of why he was coming back was merely the little sister of that bigger question: why hadn’t he stopped that night? For weeks he’d avoided it but couldn’t help circling around it. And perhaps there was no reason why he hadn’t stopped. Not because that man was black and he was white. Not because of Liat. Not because of the kids. Perhaps he’d never know why. And the only thing left for him to do was to keep asking. That was his atonement.
