In a frame. Under a small brass plate.
Part Sixteen: Dr. Prentiss
Dr. Prentiss came to our house that evening.
Jess answered the door. I was in the living room in my old cardigan, with my dress blues hanging back up in the cedar closet.
He stood on the front porch in his gray suit. No bow tie. He’d taken it off.
He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.
“Mrs. Halloran,” he said. “Mr. Halloran. May I come in?”
Jess looked at me. I nodded.
He sat on the edge of our couch. He held his hands in his lap. He didn’t say anything for a long
time.
“I owe you an apology,” he said finally. “Both of you. And Caleb.”
“I’ve been thinking all day,” he said, “about why I wrote that note. About why I said a grandparent
wasn’t appropriate.”
He looked down at his hands.
