Lisa Loud watched from the kitchen as Ronnie and Lincoln sat arm-in-arm on the back porch. It was working, she thought. She knew that inviting Bobby and Ronnie Ann to dinner would provide Lincoln a chance to see that he didn't hate them. She wondered if it might be too early to take Lincoln aside and play therapist. She was of the mind that he would eventually come around on his own, but mother was insistent that he "talk to someone" and Lisa's assurances that Lincoln needed to work through this on his own fell on deaf ears. If Lincoln continued parading around the house like an SA brownshirt, mother would make him see a psychiatrist. If he had to talk to someone, Lisa thought, it might as well be her.

Shaking her head, she went up to her room. She sat at her desk, grabbed a psychology textbook she had been studying, and read a few paragraphs. Two days. It had been less than two days since Lincoln was released. It was absurd to expect a total transformation in that short a period, especially given Lincoln's sensitivity. Lisa suspected that Lincoln had not been acutely aware of his own sensitive nature until finding himself surrounded by hardened criminals. When this trait was mocked and held up to derision, Lincoln instinctively sought to erect a wall around it as a means of self-defense. This particular wall was draped in swastika flags, but it very well could have been decked out in Blood red or Crip blue or even ISIS black. Though she believed that evil and depravity existed on a natural level, she also believed that many people who do evil things are not themselves evil, at least not at first. They are in pain. Social pain. Economic pain. Racial pain. They were victims just as much as anyone else, for they often fell prey to shrewd conmen and warped people who made them evil, who put a blue shirt or a swastika armband on them and told them to kill or steal.

Was it too early to talk to Lincoln, though? He was already making progress on his own. He needed time. Why didn't anyone understand that?

With a sigh, she decided that she would talk to him tonight.

-2-

Bobby and Ronnie Ann left at nine, and Lincoln wasn't afraid to admit that he was sad to see them go. He made plans to ride bikes with Ronnie Ann and to play video games with Bobby, so at least he had that to look forward to.

Upstairs, he went into his bedroom, but didn't salute Hitler. Instead, he looked at the Fuhrer with a mixture of emotions.

"Lincoln, we have to talk."

Lincoln jerked and turned. Lisa was standing in the doorway, a notepad in her hands.

"About what?" Lincoln asked, guardedly.

"Just...about things. We really haven't had a chance to talk since you've been back, and that's a shame."

It was true, he supposed, but Lisa rarely ever want to "just talk."

"Sit down," Lisa said.

Yep. It was going to be something heavy. Instead of fighting, he sat on the edge of the bed and took off his boots. "I'm listening."

"I wanted to ask you about your time in jail. You said it was lonely and scary."

Lincoln nodded. "Yeah. It was."

"You mentioned the other kids being 'rough.' This suggests that you suffered a fair amount of bullying. Is that correct?"

"I wouldn't call it bullying," Lincoln said. "Because people who are bullied don't fight back. I did."

"Eventually."

Lincoln blinked. "Yeah," he admitted. "Not at first."

"It sounds like a terrifying place."

"It was."

"But you made friends, did you not?"

Lincoln shrugged. "Yeah. I made a few. They helped me out."

Lisa sighed. "Look, let's stop pussyfooting around. Lincoln, this Nazi act is just that, an act, and you know it."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that you were alone and isolated in a horrible environment and the only people who showed you any amount of kindness were racist white men. You were alone and scared and they extended their hand to you."

Lincoln opened his mouth to argue, but she wasn't wrong, at least not entirely. "It killed me, okay?" he finally said. "Being away from you guys, from my family. It killed me every day. I was a wreck. Then I come home and you guys are going on like nothing ever happened. If it was one of you gone, I don't know if I could take it. No one seemed to care."

"That's nonsense, Lincoln, everyone cared. That's why we wrote you letters and called you on the phone. No one was happy while you were gone. We felt lost and out of place. The same as you."

"You were cut off from your family, Lincoln, so you found a surrogate family with Nazi sympathizers. I can't say I blame you. I've never been incarcerated, obviously, but from what I've read, it's common for people of a race to stick together, and it's common for gangs to take on familial roles. You need to understand that. You're family never left you. We were here all along, just like we always will be."

Lincoln closed his eyes. Felt the storm brewing. He tried to hold it back, but couldn't: He broke down and wept.

"It was so hard," he sobbed.

Lisa patted him on the back. "I know. And it was hard for us."

"Every day was a misery. I was so scared...and...and I missed you so much."

Lisa hugged him. Tears now streamed down her face as well. "I missed you too."

"So did I."

Lincoln looked up. Luna smiled weakly. Behind her, the others were a huddled crowd.

"Me too," Leni said.

"Me three!" Luan.

"We all did, bro," Lynn said.

Lincoln cried harder, and his sisters came to him, and cried with him.