William Edwards Leaves His Screaming Son on a Friday Afternoon in Hartford
“Do they have a chimney at the new house?” he asked.
“No chimney,” I said. “Just a small balcony with some flower pots.”
He nodded once, apparently satisfied, and looked out the side window as I pulled away from the curb. The heavy blue sedan in Sue’s driveway grew smaller in the side mirror until we turned the corner onto the main avenue.
The drive to the community college took fifteen minutes. I parked near the edge of the faculty lot, where the yellow leaves from the maples had formed a thick carpet over the asphalt.
David Vance was standing by the entrance of the humanities building, a yellow wooden pencil tucked behind his ear. He was wearing his tweed jacket with the leather elbow patches, his hands shoved deep into his trousers pockets.
“William,” David said, walking toward the car as I got out. “I saw the sheriff’s car leave the courthouse. Karen called my office.”
“The judge voided the order,” I said, leaning back against the driver’s side door. “I have Owen.”
