“He’s not under arrest, ma’am,” Davis said, his voice carrying a casual, slow drawl. “We’re just waiting on the transport decision. Family matter.”
A sudden sob erupted from the hallway near the vending machines, high-pitched and theatrical.
Vanessa stepped into the lobby, her face flushed red, aggressively twisting her gold wedding ring around her finger. My brother Robert walked half a step behind her, his eyes locked onto the scuffed toes of his work boots, his hands buried deep in his pockets.
“Clara, thank God you’re here,” Vanessa gasped, wiping her dry eyes with a tissue. “It was awful. He just snapped.”
“Explain exactly what happened, Vanessa,” I said.
“He came at me with Robert’s old baseball bat,” she said, her voice rising so everyone in the lobby could hear. “In the kitchen. We had to disarm him to keep him from breaking the windows.”
Robert mumbled something into his chest, still refusing to look up.
“Speak up, Robert,” I said.
“He was just excited, Clara,” Robert muttered to his shoes. “Vanessa’s right. He wasn’t acting like himself.”
I walked over to my father’s chair and knelt beside him, gently pulling the damp wool blanket down from his shoulders.
Arthur looked at me, his eyes clear but incredibly tired, his pale forehead glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.
“I was looking for my blue notebook ledger, Clara,” my father said, his grammar formal and precise despite the hour. “The one where I keep the utility bills. Vanessa told me I had no right to look through my own desk.”
“Did you touch a baseball bat, Dad?” I asked.
“Certainly not,” he said, rubbing his wrist. “It is in the garage behind the lawnmower. I have not been in the garage since the first frost.”
I stood up and walked back to the glass partition, the strap of my watch pinching my skin as I pulled it tight.
