She couldn’t stop thinking about Anthony’s wounded expression last night or the pained tone of his voice when he asked her where he fit in her life. She knew in her heart that she put him first, but even she couldn’t square that with her taking Patrick, against his express wishes. She felt more nervous as the papers they needed to file got closer to final. Every time she thought that Anthony was right, she would remember Patrick. How lost and alone he was, and what a sweet child. She flashed on the horrible scene when the police had taken Edward’s body from the house, and then, even worse, when they had taken Patrick. The sun was falling in the sky outside John’s window, and he was typing the cover letter to file their papers. Documents, Xerox cases, Family Court forms, and empty styrofoam cups of coffee cluttered his formerly neat desk. His hair had been finger-raked into rough layers, and his shirt sleeves had been folded up to the elbow. Mary sat in the seat across from John’s desk, staring at a draft of their papers without really seeing them.
