“He has a yard with a fence,” Eli said, his voice dropping. “He said if I lived there, I could have a golden retriever.”
I reached out to touch his shoulder, but he pulled his head back slightly, continuing the ship’s descent toward his knee.
“We have the bakery downstairs,” I said. “Arthur let you have a cookie yesterday.”
“A dog is different,” Eli said.
He stood up and ran toward the climbing structure, his blue jacket flapping behind him.
The offices of legal aid were on the third floor of a brick building near the courthouse, the air inside smelling of old carpet and wet umbrellas. I sat on the vinyl couch, my fingers rolling my silver ring back and forth. It was twenty past four, and my consultation had been scheduled for four.
The young woman behind the reception desk was typing quickly, her computer screen reflecting in her glasses.
“Is the counselor still with someone?” I asked.
She stopped typing and looked at me, her expression turning cautious.
“Are you Hannah Reed?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I called on Tuesday.”
