The Moon on His PocketPart One: The Cold CourtroomThe family courtroom in Knoxville, Tennessee, felt colder than the January morning outside.
I sat at a narrow wooden table beside my eight-year-old son, Nolan. His feet didn’t quite reach the floor. They swung back and forth whenever the room went quiet, which was often. Every few minutes, he looked up at me to check my face, the way he does when thunder rolls over our apartment at night.
I kept smiling at him. I wasn’t sure he believed it.
I’d dressed
