600 Hours of Edward

think he will. The prosecutor told me that Mike gets just how much trouble he is in.
    Edward, I want you to think about a few things:
    If you’re going to be our friend, you have to be our friend all the time. That doesn’t mean we can’t disagree or want some time apart or even get mad at each other. But you can’t shut us out. I don’t have time for friends like that, and I can’t let Kyle rely on a friend who will ultimately let him down. He’s just a little boy, and he’s had enough disappointment.
    Also, friends share. You have never been to our house, though we have asked you over. You have never even come to our side of the street. Your house is fine, and we will hang out there sometimes, but you have to come over to our house, too. It’s only fair.
    What I’m saying is that our hearts and our door are open to your friendship. But you have to come over here and knock to get in.
    We hope you do.
    Donna and Kyle
    Kyle appears to have signed the letter. Like his mother, he has excellent penmanship.
    I fold the letter and put it back in the envelope, and then I turn around and look across the street to Donna’s house.
    Her car is there.
    The curtains are pulled back.
    She is home.
    Nothing is moving on Clark Avenue except for the tree branches in the breeze and the leaves pushed down the street by the wind.
    All I have to do is look both ways and cross.
    THE END

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
    So many people helped shape this book, but a few deserve special mention: my wife, Angela, for her encouragement and her guidance on plotting out Edward’s interactions with Dr. Buckley; Greg Tuttle, my colleague, for expertly guiding me through the workings of the Yellowstone County court system; Janelle Eklund, my high school English teacher, for igniting my love of literature and cheerleading this book; and Matt Hagengruber, Craig Hashbarger, and Stephen Benoit for being good sports and lending their names to the cause.
    Edward would never have been on this ride if not for the original endorsement and hard work of Chris Cauble, Linda Cauble, and Janet Spencer at Riverbend Publishing, who believed in his story and were good shepherds, indeed. Alex Carr and the amazing crew at Amazon Publishing have been a joy to work with, and I look forward to seeing where Edward’s story goes from here.
    Finally, I’ll just say this: With the exceptions of those who are (or were) obviously real—Jack Webb and the
Dragnet
ensemble, Matthew Sweet, the members of R.E.M., Garth Brooks, and the like—the characters in this work of fiction are just that, fictional. That said, some passages of the book were based on real events. Barack Obama was really elected president. Veteran characteractor Clark Howat (may he rest in peace) really did answer a letter from a fan (me) and describe how
Dragnet
was filmed, and he could not have been more of a gentleman. I don’t know if Garth Brooks’s lawyer ever wrote anybody a cease-and-desist letter, but in this case, it’s immaterial. He/she certainly didn’t write one to Edward Stanton, who is fictional.
    Oh, and the 2008 Dallas Cowboys? Sadly, they were all too real.

Edward’s story continues in
    EDWARD ADRIFT
    Available April 9, 2013
    What follows is the first chapter in Edward’s new life.

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 7, 2011
    I look at my watch at 3:37 p.m.—3:37 and 17 seconds, because I have the kind of watch with an LED digital display for precision—and stop in the kitchen. I have another fifty-three seconds and could easily make it to the couch, but I stand still and watch the seconds tick off. The seven morphs (I love the word “morphs”) into an eight and then a nine and then the one becomes a two and the nine becomes a zero, and I keep watching. Finally, at 3:38 and 10 seconds, I draw in my breath and hold it. Time keeps going, and I exhale. I look down again and notice that I am standing on top of dried marinara sauce that sloshed out of the saucepan yesterday. And just like yesterday, I don’t have the energy to clean it up, even though it bothers me.
    At 3:38 p.m. and 10 seconds, twenty-one days ago, on Wednesday, November 16, 2011, Mr. Withers fired me from my job at the
Billings Herald-Gleaner
. I know it happened at that time because as Mr. Withers said, “I hate like hell to have to tell you this, Edward,” I looked directly at my Timex watch on my left wrist, where I always keep it. Its display read 3:38:10, and I made a mental note to write it down as soon as possible,which I