Chapter 9: The Boy's Call

I held the drawing up to Hannah the next morning and said, "I'd like to see him."

She looked at it for a long moment.

"Lorna's been called back to the station," she said. "Her director wanted her in person. She left at dawn, and she won't be back for two days."

"And Russ?"

"He went down to the cafeteria twenty minutes ago. He eats at nine."

She slid her hand under my elbow.

"Let's go now."

We took the elevator to the children's floor, my father three steps behind us.

The playroom was a small square room with a rug and a shelf of broken crayons.

Sam sat alone at a low table in a coat too big for him, drawing.

He looked up when I came in, and he put the crayon down.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi."

I lowered myself into the chair across from him, slowly, with my hand on my stomach.

"Are you the man in the drawer?" he asked.

"I think so. My name is Elliot."

He nodded once.

"Mom has your picture. You're holding a wrench. She looks at it at night when Dad is asleep."

My throat tightened.

"Did she say who I was?"

"She said you were far away." He studied me. "You came on the train. Dad said you'd come to take Mom."

"I came to give her papers."

"Is it the divorce?"

I glanced at Hannah.

She stood by the door and gave me nothing.

"Yes," I said. "It's done now."

Sam folded his hands on the table.

He had a pale, serious face, and he sat very still, because being noticed had cost him before.

"Dad's mad," he told me. "He's really mad. He said if you don't leave, Mom will stay with you."

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