My name was written on it. The handwriting was familiar enough to numb my hands. Grant. I opened it right there, under the porch light.
Mom, don’t call anyone. Don’t ask questions. Just listen to him and get in the car.
“I can’t discuss details here.”
For a moment, I couldn’t catch my breath. Grant was my unpredictable one. The one I fretted over whenever the phone rang late at night.
The officer said, expression flat, “Ma’am, I need you to come with me.” Criminaljustice degree
I looked up, alarmed. “Is my son alive?”
His eyes darted away briefly, as though he knew something he didn’t want to reveal.
“Please,” I whispered. “Is Grant alive?”
He swallowed. “He’ll explain everything.”
The officer climbed into the front seat and pulled away.
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