“Do you want me to come too?”
Brenna shook her head quickly.
“No.”
Too quickly.
Mrs. Nolan noticed.
So did I.
I said.
“I’ll handle it.”
Then we started walking.
Brenna stayed close.
Not holding my hand.
Just close enough that her backpack occasionally brushed my arm.
Most children wanted to ask about my radio.
My flashlight.
The patrol car.
Whether I had ever arrested anyone.
Brenna asked nothing.
She watched windows.
Cars.
People.
At the second intersection, I asked.
“Who do you live with?”
“My dad.”
“What’s his name?”
“Radley.”
I knew the name.
