From Saints at the River: Listening to Ben, you would have thought he'd gone through childhood with nothing worse happening to him than a stubbed toe. Someone who didn't know him well would say he was merely in denial, but I did know Ben well, and I knew the life he'd made for himself as a man. The early history of his life was like history written in chalk on a blackboard-something he could smudge and then erase through sheer good-heartedness. But I wasn't like my brother. I couldn't let things go. I didn't even want to. Forgetting, like forgiving, only blurred things. Even Ben, for all his nostalgia, had put the whole width of the United States between him and South Carolina. Excerpted from Saints at the River: A Novel by Ron Rash All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.