William Edwards Leaves His Screaming Son on a Friday Afternoon in Hartford
The line went dead before I could answer.
I sat in the quiet car, the hum of the passing traffic on the nearby highway filling the silence. The blue folder from the New Horizons Academy was still in the glove compartment, but it felt miles away now. I started the engine, the heater blowing cold air against my knees before it slowly warmed. I had to find a place to stay, some place where the court papers could not find me before Thursday morning. My fingers were stiff as I put the car in gear.
The sign for the Oak Motel flickered in the dusk, the orange neon tubes humming with a low, wet vibration. A truck backfired on the state highway outside, the sound rattling the loose glass pane in the lobby door. I stepped inside, the smell of stale tobacco and floor disinfectant hitting me as the bell above the door chimed. A middle-aged desk clerk with a gray mustache looked up from a small television behind the counter.
“Just one person?” the clerk asked, his eyes lingering on my creased winter coat.
