William Edwards Leaves His Screaming Son on a Friday Afternoon in Hartford
“I did not touch them,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Owen spent the weekend at his grandmother’s house in Hartford.”
David stopped twirling his pencil and let it rest on the table. “The colonial house with the peeling paint?”
“That is the one,” I said, adjusting my wire-rimmed glasses. “Owen was terrified when we dropped him off on Friday. He was crying, David. He tried to climb into the front seat to stay with me.”
“Kids get separation anxiety,” David said gently. “It is common at five.”
“It was more than that,” I said, leaning forward. “He did not say a word after his grandmother came out. He just froze. And he kept rubbing his left wrist, like he was trying to rub something off his skin.”
David watched me, his eyes serious behind his reading glasses. “Did Sue say anything to him?”
“She didn’t have to,” I said. “She just stood there with her hands clasped behind her back. But Owen stopped crying the second Marsha whispered in his ear. I do not know what she said, but it was like someone flipped a switch in him.”
