I glance at my watch; it's just before two. "Yes-"

"Don't."

"What?" The words don't compute. "What do you mean?"

Lewis releases an agitated rush of breath. "Somehow the press has got hold of the story."

"What story-"

"About Ben and Josh. The lawsuit. There are reporters crawling all over Burgdorf."

"What?" Everything in me contracts with appalled horror. "Why? How? I mean, it's not a news story-"

"Apparently it is. Someone posted a rant against Burgdorf online and it's gone viral. They're outside the school, waiting for you to come get Josh."

"They know-"

"Your name was mentioned in the original post."

"And Josh..."

"No, they didn't mention any children's names."

"I don't understand why it's a news story-"

"Does it matter? It is. I have no idea how they found out about the lawsuit. I don't think Maddie told anyone but me."

The casual reference to Maddie after everything we argued about last night needles me, and resolutely I push it aside. "I don't know..." I begin, and then fall silent. Because suddenly I'm afraid I do know. I knew about the lawsuit, and I told Jane when we were having coffee. And Jane seems exactly the kind of person who would rant online. This is my fault.

"Jo?" Lewis cuts across my spinning thoughts impatiently. "I've called the school and they're going to keep Josh in the afterschool club. Wait a bit and then you can go around to the side entrance on Sixth Avenue. Okay?"

I'm barely taking in what he is saying. "Okay..."

"I don't want them to get any pictures."

"They can't take photographs of a child-"

"They can take photos of you. They can even blur his face. I don't want any of us in the media."

I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe things have gotten worse. "Okay," I whisper.

"Take a cab home. I don't want anyone figuring out where we live."

"Okay."

Lewis hangs up and I stare dazedly in front of me, the phone still in my hand, as the fragile world I've been trying so desperately to keep together shatters all around me.

23.

MADDIE.

Wednesday is a better day. I make it into Peekskill by nine, and after helping Ben get dressed I support him through his therapies. It's hard work, but he's getting better, stronger. He's able to move his arms and legs with a bit more focus and precision; he spoons yogurt into his mouth.

I refuse to think about Bruce coming over last night, or the MetroBaby post that went viral. I simply don't have space in my brain for all that. At least Ben is safe out in Peekskill; I'm grateful, for once, to be out of the city. Maybe the New York Daily Mail will choose not to run the story. Maybe it will all disappear like so much hot air, just another Manhattan mom on the self-righteous warpath. Who really wants to hear some wealthy urbanite whine about private education? It won't last.

By two o'clock in the afternoon I realize I am wrong. Brian calls me to tell me the story is on the front page of the New York Daily Mail.

"Seriously?" I groan. I am standing in the foyer of the hospital; outside I can see the gray sea of the parking lot, and in the distance a field, the grass tipped with frost. The sky is a hard, bright blue. "This makes the front page, when there is so much else going on in the world? Terrorism, injustice, war...?"

"This is the kind of story that sells papers."

I sink onto one of the sofas and rake a hand through my hair. "It doesn't mention me by name, does it?"

Brian sighs. "It does. And Joanna and Lewis Taylor-Davies too, and someone named Juliet Decker. But it doesn't mention Ben or Josh."

"Oh, well then. That's okay." I let out a hollow laugh. I wonder if Lewis hates me, for bringing all this up. "I don't think I can stand to read it. What's the slant?"

"Mostly against Burgdorf. It's not blaming either of the boys, or you too much for starting the lawsuit. It's calling for an investigation of private schools and their governing bodies, making a few digs against progressive education-"

"This isn't going to help my claim," I state flatly. "Is it?"

"I don't know," Brian answers. "Maybe it will spur them to settle quickly and avoid any more bad press."

"Maybe," I agree. But I remember Bruce's vicious, snarling voice and I don't think so. This has become personal; maybe it always was.

After I end the call with Brian I stay in the foyer for a few minutes, staring out at the bright, frost-tipped field and trying not to think about how ugly things might get. Juliet and Lewis and Joanna all mentioned on the front page of a tabloid newspaper...

I close my eyes. I never wanted this. This is specifically what I didn't want. Yet how many people will believe me?

When I go back into Ben's room he is giving me that funny, lopsided grin that tugs at my heart. I am starting to see a glimmer of the boy he once was, and it makes me so thankful and so sad at the same time. I miss the Ben I once knew, who was loud and boisterous and maybe a little bit out of control.

For so many years I didn't feel like I knew what to do with him; he mystified and aggravated and ultimately defeated me. I never was prepared for motherhood.

When I'd decided to continue the pregnancy, I'd pictured a baby slotting into my life with ease and joy, a docile little thing in white blankets, and then a cute toddler who snuggled and slept through the night and happily went off to daycare. Ben did none of those things, and for so long that was a source of incredible frustration and disappointment. And yet now I'd do just about anything to have that boisterous boy-child back. Anything.

But there's nothing I can do.

"Hi..." Ben says, his voice slurred, his tongue clumsy on the vowels. "Hiiii, Mom."

I see how hard he is trying, and it bursts then in my heart how brave my son is. How incredible. "Hi, Ben," I say softly, and smiling, I reach for his hand. This is all that matters. Helping my son to heal. Learning to live with this new reality. In that moment I don't care at all about the MetroBaby post or the Daily Mail article or the lawsuit or even Lewis. I just want this. Us. My son and me.

As soon as I am on the train back home the article in the Daily Mail that I've been trying not to think about resurfaces in my mind.

I do an Internet search on my phone, but I have no reception and for once I'm thankful. Bad news can keep.

But it doesn't keep for long; when I emerge from Grand Central and my phone beeps back to life, I see I have three missed calls. One from Brian, one from Lewis, and one from Juliet.

I consider who to call back first and then I decide I can't deal with any of them, and so I chuck my phone in my bag and walk briskly home through the chilly darkness.

Brian pops his head out of his door as I fumble for the keys to mine.

"Have you seen it?" he asks, looking grim. His bristly hair needs a cut; when it gets long it stands straight up and he looks rather adorably ridiculous.

Not that I'm thinking romantically about Brian.

I shake my head. "I don't think I want to see it. Do you have a copy?" He nods, and I sigh. "You might as well bring it over, then."

He goes back into his apartment for the paper and then follows me into mine. I kick off my shoes and toss my bag on a chair. My whole body aches, and I am conscious that in just over twelve hours I have an appointment with Sheila of Alwin's HR to discuss going back to work part-time. More things I can't bring myself to think about right now.

I flop onto the sofa and hold my hand out for the newspaper.

"Are you sure?" Brian asks.

"I might as well know the worst."

He hands me the newspaper and I take in the photographs first, one a screenshot of the post on MetroBaby, another of Burgdorf's bright blue doors. It jolts me to see them; I haven't actually been to Burgdorf in two months.

The article is a mishmash of vitriol, accusing Burgdorf for being negligent and Juliet for being careless. There are hints that Joanna is at fault for having a son who pushes, and I am for being a single mother who works full-time and is out for blood money, the unwritten implication being, I suppose, that if I stayed at home and baked cookies this wouldn't have happened.

I throw the paper on the sofa. "They want to offend everybody."

"Apparently."

I lean my head against the back of the sofa. "Maybe I should just drop the claim."

"What?" I open my eyes to see Brian lurch forward in his seat, his expression shocked. "Maddie, you have a strong case. Why would you do that?"

"Because I don't want things to get ugly. And I need to focus on Ben." I picture his lopsided, drooly smile, the painstaking way he formed the words bye, Mom when I left. "I'm not sure I have the energy for this."

"For one settlement conference?"

I sigh. "If that's all it takes."

"This publicity isn't your fault."

"I know. But will they believe that?"

Brian sighs. "The whole thing is shitty."

"You can say that again."

We sit in silence for a moment and then he asks, "How was Ben today?"

"Good, actually. He's making progress. I mean, most people would probably still be appalled. They wouldn't be able to understand what he'd saying and he still can't walk but he can feed himself and reach for things and I think he'll get there." I'm not sure where there is, but I know it's somewhere, and it is a place I am starting to accept.

"That's good, Maddie." Brian pauses, shifts in his chair. "I was thinking...maybe I could visit Ben this weekend. I could drive you in my car."

The smile that takes over my face is so wide my cheeks hurt. "I'd love that," I say. "And I know Ben would too."

Brian smiles back, awkward but sincere. We sit in silence for a few minutes and then he leans over and pats my knee. "Hang in there, Maddie," he says and I nod.

"I am," I say, and I mean it.

After he leaves I realize that the conversation we just had possessed no overtones or innuendoes, no sense of a sexual transaction that might take place. It is, surprisingly, a relief. I'm changing, I think with a little ripple of shock. This whole experience is changing me, and maybe in a good way. It's a strange and novel thought.

The next morning I head across town to Alwin's offices. I haven't been there since the day I walked out after the phone call from Burgdorf telling me about Ben's accident. It feels like a lifetime ago; it is a lifetime ago, because I was living a different life then. I was a different person.

Sheila meets me the moment I walk onto the HR floor, her face wreathed in the kind of grimace that is meant to indicate a sympathetic smile. I'm tired of that look, but I smile back and shake her hand. Firmly.

"It's so good to see you again, Madeleine," she says, even though we don't really know each other.

I follow her into her office and sit in the chair she gestures to while she positions herself behind her desk, folds her hands on its surface, and assumes an alert but friendly look.

"So I've read your e-mail correspondence about wanting to return to work part-time," she says, her tone indicating that she is going to launch into some kind of spiel.

My smile turns polite, a little fixed. "Yes."

"And that is really good news. Ben must be doing much better?" The slight hesitation before his name tells me it wasn't on the tip of her tongue, but why should it be? I don't know this woman.

"He's progressing well," I say.

"Is he home from the hospital, then?"

I shake my head. "No, he's in a rehabilitation facility up in Peekskill. He'll be there for a few more weeks at least." Yesterday Dr. Spedding said he thought Ben might be able to come home in another month, but that thought is incredibly daunting to me.

"Oh. Right." Sheila's expression reorients itself from surprise to interest. "Well. Yes. Good news."

"Yes."

"As for your part-time hours..."

Here it comes. I brace myself, waiting for her to explain some obscure policy of Alwin's and how it keeps me from coming back part-time. I braved a look at my bank account this morning, and after paying December's rent the money I'd saved for Burgdorf's tuition is nearly gone. I'm nearly broke. I need to work.

"I thought we could start with twenty hours," Sheila continues, and I blink. "Five four-hour days? I think it's better to be in the office on a daily basis..." She goes on for a minute but I've tuned her out because inside I'm reeling, I'm rejoicing, that for once something is actually going to work out for me.