William Edwards Leaves His Screaming Son on a Friday Afternoon in Hartford
When we reached the front porch, the autumn sun was pale behind a thin sheet of high clouds. Owen walked down the steps slowly, his hand holding mine so tightly his knuckles were white.
I opened the passenger door of the sedan and helped him into his booster seat, pulling the shoulder strap across his chest and clicking it into the buckle. He did not look back at the colonial house; his eyes were fixed on the dashboard clock.
“Where are we going, Daddy?” he asked, his voice a tiny, breathless whisper. “Are we going back to the big house?”
“No, Owen,” I said, adjusting the rearview mirror so I could see his face. “We are going to a new place. A small apartment near the college.”
“Is Mommy there?”
“No,” I said, setting the plastic bag of clothes on the floorboard of the back seat. “Mommy is going to stay with Grandma for a while. It is just going to be you and me.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small grey pebble, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.
