I went to the back door and called for Cole. He came in from the cold garage, wiping his hands on a rag, his face passive. He followed me into the front hallway where my father stood, still refusing to take off his heavy gray coat.
Cole stood near the coat rack, his blue motorcycle helmet sitting on the shelf beside him. He did not take off his leather jacket. He looked at my father with a flat, unreadable expression.
“Evelyn,” Arthur said, pointing a finger toward the kitchen. “I want you to listen to this very carefully.”
“I am listening, Dad,” I said, my voice dropping into the short, measured sentences I used whenever my parents made me nervous.
“I was at the County Hospital this afternoon,” Arthur said, his eyes shifting from me to Cole. “I was dropping off some paperwork for the board. I saw your husband in the parking lot.”
Cole did not move. He stood with his arms crossed, his chin tucked slightly into his collar.
“He was not alone,” Arthur continued, his voice rising slightly. “He was holding hands with a little boy outside the main entrance. He walked him right through the sliding doors.”
