I had debated it for weeks.
Miriam told me I owed him nothing.
Leonard told me to stay away.
My therapist asked what I hoped to gain.
I did not know.
Maybe I needed to see him without the suit.
Without Sterling.
Without money.
Without anyone calling him Mr.
Hale.
Arthur looked smaller in beige detention clothing.
He sat behind glass.
We picked up phones.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “You cut your hair.”
I had.
Chloe used to twist the ends of it around her fingers.
One morning I could no longer bear the sensation.
So I cut twelve inches off.
“How are you?”
Arthur asked.
I almost laughed.
Instead I said, “Alive.”
He nodded.
His eyes filled with tears.
“I dream about her.”
“So do I.”
“She’s always three.”
“She’ll always be three.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“I deserve whatever happens to me.”
