I sat on the bench across from him until he stood up.

“Your mother is at home,” I said.

“She doesn’t know the details yet.”

Brandon held the check against his palm.

“Does she hate me?”

“She asked me to bring you home.”

At half past noon, I pulled out of the parking deck onto Peachtree with Brandon in the passenger seat.

He cried softly, his face turned toward the window.