something.
Ezoic“Nolan,” I whispered. “Honey, what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer me.
Across the room, Grant was still smiling. He didn’t notice his son at all. He was leaning over to whisper something to his lawyer.
Nolan lifted the front of his shirt just a few inches. Enough to reach the inside of the fabric behind the moon. His fingers found the tiny secret pocket my mother had sewn.
He pulled something out.
Then he slid off his chair and stood up.
“Excuse me,” he said to the
judge. His voice was small but clear. “Can I say something?”
EzoicPart Five: What Nolan SaidThe courtroom went completely silent.
Mr. Carroway turned around with an expression of polite surprise. The court reporter’s fingers stopped moving. The bailiff, a heavyset man by the door, took one step forward and then stopped.
Grant finally looked at his son. For the first time all morning.
Judge Halloway took off her reading glasses.
“Young man,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Nolan Bellamy,” he said. “I’m eight.”
“Nolan,” the judge said gently. “Usually children
