The Four Boys at the Restaurant Sink
“No. The apartment.”
A pause. “Your residence, Mr. Farrington?”
“Yes.”
I nearly laughed.
I had just handed the keys of that residence to a woman who may have raised my four sons without a dollar or a word from me.
By the time we pulled up to the tower the sky had gone deep blue.
I sat in the car a full minute before I got out.
The night doorman straightened when he saw me.