Officer Benny looked at Logan. “Why don’t you tell her?”
I noticed Logan’s fingers trembling slightly. He was doing his best to keep it from showing.
“I mean,” he said, looking at the floor, “it wasn’t a big deal, Officer.”
“It was a big deal,” Officer Benny said.
“Logan, just tell me,” I snapped. “What did you do?”
“It was a big deal.”
Logan scratched the back of his neck. “I took Andrew out for a walk,” he admitted. “Just around the block. He wanted to see the Jacksons’ dog.”
“And?”
“We were passing Mr. Henson’s house,” Logan continued. “You know him, Mom. He’s the one who gives Andrew butterscotch candies through the fence sometimes.”
I knew who he meant. The older man who lived four houses down, who always waved when I drove past.
“You know him, Mom.”
“And then I heard a thud,” Logan added.
“Mr. Henson lives alone,” Officer Benny explained. “He has a heart condition.”
“He was on the porch, Mom,” Logan revealed. “On the ground. He wasn’t really moving.”
I could picture it without trying: my 17-year-old standing on the sidewalk with his toddler brother, a half-second to make a decision about what to do next.
“He wasn’t really moving.”
“I told Andrew to stay by the fence,” Logan admitted. “I said don’t move, stay right there. And then I ran over.”
Andrew, hearing his name from the couch, shifted in his sleep and resettled. The cracker was gone now, dropped somewhere in Officer Benny’s jacket.
“I called emergency services,” Logan said. “They stayed on the line with me.”
Officer Benny took over. “Your son followed every instruction they gave him. Checked for breathing. Kept Mr. Henson talking. Didn’t leave his side.”
“I told Andrew to stay by the fence.”
I looked at Logan. He was looking at the floor again, and his jaw was set the way it gets when he doesn’t want someone to see his face.
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