In a Hartford Courtroom, Grant Wanted the House Until a Little Purple Toy Started Playing
“Of course he does,” I said.
I stepped back toward the glass doors, watching her right hand stay hidden under the heavy paper.
“Tell Grant I’ll see him at six thirty for dinner,” I said.
She didn’t look up from her screen as the door clicked shut behind me.
***
The dining table was set with our everyday willow-pattern plates.
Grant cut his pork chop into precise five-eighths-inch squares, setting his fork down between every two bites.
“The roast vegetables are a bit underdone,” he observed, looking at the rim of his plate.
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