Chapter 21

“Oh,” she said, “but I understood that you have met him. It’s Glen. Glen Harrison.”

I nodded, remembering seeing the name “Harrison” on the cop’s uniform.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve met him.”

There was a short pause, after which the social worker rose to her feet.

“Well,” she said. “If that’s all. Or do you have any questions?”

I rose as well, and shook my head.

Reaching into her leather case, the woman extracted a card and handed it to him.

“In case you have any questions.”

“Thank you,” I said, following her to the front door. “Thank you very much.”

After I was alone again, I sank down on the sofa and put my head in my hands.

“Oh—my—God!”

That evening I was reading, when there came what was now something of a familiar knock on my front door. I went to it and saw the cop—only this time, he wasn’t in uniform—and his manner was distinctly different. But he looked as beautiful as ever.

“May I come in?”

“Yes,” I said, standing aside, adding, “Always.”