I realized, in that moment, that was driving me to chase down Domingo Vargas. I felt the same sort of guilt over Mama G’s death. Even though I’d taken reasonable precautions and had no way of realizing the danger she was in, I still felt responsible for her murder. I knew that it was all tied up with my guilt over not having visited my own grandmother years earlier on the night she lay dying in hospital. I’d had a good reason at the time—an impossibly heavy workload at Lone Star—but had tortured myself with guilt over not going to her bedside to bid her farewell ever since. Somehow, illogical though it might be, bringing Domingo Vargas to justice would lay the ghosts of both my grandmothers to rest.