William Edwards Leaves His Screaming Son on a Friday Afternoon in Hartford
“You have papers to grade, William, and I am staying to help mother clear out the attic,” she said, her voice leaving no room for discussion. “I will take an Uber home tomorrow or Sunday.”
“But his pajamas are in the green bag,” I said, holding the worn stuffed dog against my ribs.
“We have everything he needs,” Marsha said, shutting my door and leaning through the open window. “Drive back to the apartment, William.”
I backed the sedan down the driveway, my hands tight on the steering wheel as I watched Sue reach down.
She did not take Owen’s hand, but instead gripped the collar of his jacket and pulled him toward the front door.
The image stayed in my rearview mirror as I pulled onto the main road, the heavy oak door slamming shut, locking Owen inside Sue’s dark hallway.
The kitchen clock showed ten past eight when the headlights of the Uber swept across our dining room window. I stood by the sink, holding a half-dry coffee mug, as Marsha walked through the back door. Her leather purse hung empty over her shoulder, the strap digging into her beige trench coat.
