Chapter 3Wyatt sat on the couch, watching out of the front window. It had been one of those pleasantly cool days again, and even in the fading light the kids played in the yards and along the wide strip of trees and grass that separated the two lanes of the road and functioned as a neighborhood park.
Other than the children and someone waiting at the bus stop, the streets were empty, with only the occasional car bumping its way over the potholed blacktop.
It was the kind of evening Wyatt preferred, and the red-orange glow cast by the setting sun made everything feel otherworldly.
The microwave pinged, and he walked into the kitchen to grab his cup of noodles and the last of the root beer.
It had been eight days since he’d arranged his brother’s bail, and there’d been no word from Teddy
