William Edwards Leaves His Screaming Son on a Friday Afternoon in Hartford
“I just need to keep things stable for Owen,” I said, adjusting my glasses again.
“A five-year-old needs his father,” David said. “But the administration here is sensitive about personal matters leaking into the department. If there is a court date, you let me know early. I can cover your intro class on Thursday morning.”
“The hearing is Thursday at nine,” I said.
David stopped the pencil’s rotation and tapped the lead point against the wooden desk. “I will handle the lecture. You focus on your boy.”
The door at the back of the lecture hall squeaked open on its heavy brass hinges, the sound cutting through the quiet room.
A man in a tan windbreaker walked down the concrete steps of the tiered seating, carrying a thick white envelope in his left hand. He did not look like a student, and he did not look like one of the administrative staff from the main building. His boots clicked loudly against the floor tiles as he approached the front of the room.
“William Edwards?” the man asked, his voice echoing off the concrete walls of the empty room.
