By Eric Adelson

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

ABBEVILLE, S.C. -- You are Marty Cann, and this is the moment you've feared since your family's secret got out two summers ago. It's not where you are -- an ordinary gas station in this town your family has called home since the 19th century -- it's the guy walking toward you. You didn't expect anything momentous to happen when you stopped to fill up on this summer day in 2008, but there he is, and he sees you. The two of you have said hello since all this started, but now you want to talk. You want to make things right, even though you have no idea how to do that. He's taller than you, of course -- once upon a time, he played fullback for the local high school -- but he seems almost forbidding up close, with his bald head and soul patch tilted down at you. You've got to say something. "Hey, Darrell," you blurt out. "Do we need to talk?"

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