Chapter 17
Atlanta, GA
Philip
AS CHARLES PULLED up to his grandmother’s house, I felt a twinge of apprehension over the evening that was now at hand. This would be no quickie in and out visit, and I knew that I would once again be very much on display and under scrutiny.
Goodman answered the door and ushered the three of us into the library, where Mrs. Barnett was waiting. The room was indeed a library—the only wall space not covered by built-in shelves filled with books contained a tremendous fireplace with a beautifully carved mantel. There was a painting of a man in late middle age hanging over the mantel, and I presumed him to be Charles’ grandfather. Placed directly in front of the hearth was a coffee table, and at either side of the table were matching sofas, upon one of which Mr
