The kids and I spent the next day playing inside and outside. We all went to bed early that night, but I didn’t sleep. The morning of December 27, 1973, was hell for me. I knew Edward Barrington was in Parker’s office. I pictured him sitting in a chair across from Parker, a little smile on his face, relaxed and cool. Maybe he was speaking in that soft whisper that could coil itself into a shout and strike down a person without warning. He was someone I hardly knew, yet knew more than enough about. A memory: The time he had talked down to us after the failed firecracker raid. So cold, yet his eyes burned. When he had said something to me, Carlie had answered him in my defense. He had snapped back at her. I could still feel her delicate hands gripping my shoulders. Had she feared him too? Another memory. I was thirteen. It was late June. I had gone for a walk, alone, in the state park and run into him. He had been drunk.
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