He walked her inside. Logan was already in the living room, his face pale, his expression a mix of confusion and something that looked like dread.
Carol’s fear converted immediately to anger the way fear often does when the people we love are at the center of it.
She asked Logan what he had done this time.
He said he had not done anything, his voice carrying the edge of someone who has been on the receiving end of that question too many times and is tired of it.
The officer stepped between them and asked for one minute.
He explained what had happened with the steadiness of someone who has delivered difficult information many times and understands that the delivery matters.
Two hours earlier, his department had received a call reporting a toddler walking alone near a busy intersection on Maple Street. A car had been forced to swerve to avoid him.
Carol reached for the wall.
The toddler had been Andrew.
The officer said he had found him and had been in the process of contacting child services when something else happened.
Logan had appeared at the end of the street.
Barefoot. Running. Calling his brother’s name at full volume, not caring who heard him or what it looked like.
The officer let a moment of silence sit before he continued.
Logan had not hesitated when he saw the patrol car. He had not turned around. He had not tried to disappear, which was the response the officer had half-expected based on their history together.
He had run directly toward the officer and the first words out of his mouth were not about himself at all.
He kept asking whether Andrew was okay. He kept asking someone to please just tell him his brother was okay.
The Story Logan Told
Carol turned to look at her son.
