William Edwards Leaves His Screaming Son on a Friday Afternoon in Hartford
I looked back at Owen, who was now leaning his head against the window, his eyelids drooping in the afternoon light.
“I do not want her in jail; I just want my son safe,” I said. “We will file for a simple divorce. No charges.”
David stopped twirling the pencil and placed it in his breast pocket.
“You are a better man than I am, William,” he said. “My divorce took three years and cost me my house in Mystic. If you can walk away with your skin intact, you do it.”
“I am walking away with Owen,” I said. “That is all I need.”
“Go on home,” David said, tapping the hood of the sedan with his knuckles. “Get him settled before the sun goes down.”
I got back into the driver’s seat and looked at the dashboard clock. It was nearly three thirty, and the shadows of the maple trees were stretching across the empty spaces of the parking lot.
In the back seat, Owen had dropped his grey pebble onto the floor. His head was tilted to the side, his breathing slow and regular as he slept.
