Then the school's lawyer, the kind of guy I thought Keith would be, starts speaking. He wears a purple shirt and a tie in darker purple silk. His aftershave stinks up the room. It takes me a few seconds to realize what he is saying, and even then my fuzzy mind can only snag on a few words.

"Warnings given...multiple infractions...known for behavioral problems...supervisors attempted to warn both boys off the rocks, to no avail..."

I see Keith's mouth tighten and I realize, with dawning horror, they're not going to settle. That Burgdorf is blaming me. Blaming Ben. I glance at Bruce's calm, almost smug face and I know this is his doing. This is his way of punishing me, and maybe I deserve it.

I feel a hot flush sweep over my body as the lawyer goes on in his matter-of-fact voice, making me out to be a liar, a money-grubber, a bad mother, a slut. He is listing every secret fear and belief about myself I've hidden in my heart and it feels worse than being naked. I feel so exposed, it's as if this awful man has peeled back my skin, poked at my nerve endings. My whole body prickles with painful shame.

I glance at Keith and see how tight his face looks. A glance to my other side and I see how unhappy Brian seems. I realize what he's hearing about me, what he must think, what he must know My stomach, already writhing, hollows out completely. My head goes light and I'm afraid I might faint. I take a few careful breaths as spots dance before my eyes.

And still the lawyer goes on and on, listing my sins. My faults. He's dug into my past. He makes insinuations about my character, and then, even worse, he makes them about Ben. He knows that I talked to the counselor about ADHD. He knows how many notes I received from Mrs. Rollins about Ben's 'discipline problems'.

Keith responds, but I can't make out what he is saying over the buzzing in my ears. It's taking all my strength to remain upright, to keep breathing evenly.

I hear him say something about witnesses, about Juliet and Helen talking, about the school's policy of supervision, but I can't really take it in.

The lawyers go back and forth, and Brian reaches for my hand. I cling to him even though I know I'm showing weakness. I feel flayed, everything in me raw and wounded, so horribly exposed And then the death blow comes, when the lawyer insinuates that there is something between Lewis and me, that our relationship might have triggered this whole episode. How...

My panicked gaze jerks from Bruce's smug one to the lawyer's soulless urbanity. I never mentioned Lewis to anyone. How could Bruce possibly know? Have I been that obvious?

But maybe he's just guessing. Maybe he's guessing because of how I've been with him. Maybe Bruce of all people knows what I really am. The possibility sickens me. Maybe this is my own fault. All my fault. I've been trying to blame someone, and I am the real culprit.

And then it ends. I'm not even sure what happened. The lawyers are standing, squaring off. The judge makes some statement about a further date, notice to file. And then we are leaving.

Outside the judge's chambers Keith guides me gently over to a bench. He fetches me a Dixie cup of water while Bruce and his legal team strides down the hallway.

"Maddie, are you okay?" Brian asks in a low voice. I shake my head.

Keith stands in front of me. "I'm not sure how much of that you processed, but basically Burgdorf is going to fight."

I speak through numb lips. "They think it's my fault."

"They're claiming Ben was warned off the rocks, which I don't actually think is true, based on the witnesses' accounts I gathered." Keith hesitates. "And I'm not sure you heard this, Maddie, but they're considering counter-suing for damages."

I stare up at him in horror. "Damages?" Ben and I are already so damaged.

"Defamation. Because of the newspaper article."

"But I had nothing to do with that-"

"It was a direct result of your actions, unfortunately, and they can apportion blame, so the newspaper, the person who posted on MetroBaby, and you could all pay a percentage."

A percentage, when I feel like I've paid with my life already? But maybe I deserve this. "Do you think they have a case?"

"Not a strong one, but they seem to want to make this ugly."

"And if I drop the case?" I whisper. "If we don't go ahead with a lawsuit?"

Keith sighs. "Maybe they'll drop the defamation charges. We can see."

But I don't want to see. I don't want to go down this awful road of legal wrangling, of more publicity, of a spotlight being swung onto me and my son. Life is hard enough. God, is it hard enough. I want, desperately, to make things right, but I don't know how. I don't know if I can.

"I have to think about this," I say unsteadily. I still feel dizzy.

"Of course," Keith says. "I'll call you with any updates. And you can call me anytime."

A few minutes later Brian and I are walking outside, the cold air like a slap in the face. I take a few deep breaths and blink back the spots.

"Are you okay?" Brian asks in a low voice.

"I...I don't know. I should have expected this, I guess. Bruce..." I can't finish because I remember what Brian knows about me and Bruce. What he heard.

"Let me put you in a cab," Brian says, and I stare at him in confusion. "I have to go to work," he explains. "I'm sorry. I only took the morning off." I nod, understanding even as I fight a deep disappointment. Of course Brian has to go to work. Of course he has a life to live. This is my problem, and I have to solve it on my own.

"I'll talk to you tonight," he says, and I nod again, jerkily. He hails a cab and gives the driver a twenty to cover the fare, and I don't protest. I'm too dazed and numb to do anything but lean against the seat as the buildings blur by and we head uptown.

Back in my apartment I walk around the few tiny rooms, still too dazed to think coherently. What if the school goes ahead with their lawsuit? What if they win? How on earth will I pay?

Why does Bruce want to destroy me? Haven't I lost enough? Haven't I suffered enough? Hasn't Ben?

I sink onto the sofa, my head in my hands. Through the overwhelming guilt I feel comes a reckless self-pity. Nothing has ever gone right for me. Nothing. A dad I never knew, a mother who neglected me to the point of having to be taken from her care. Foster family after foster family, a blur of faces and names of people who didn't want me. Even Esme didn't want me, not for real. I owe so much to Esme, but in the end she handed me back too.

I hate the self-pity I'm letting myself wallow in, but I've been so strong for so long. I'm so tired of straining and striving, and for what? For what?

I don't know how long I sit there, numb, my mind spinning; it must be awhile because eventually I notice it is dark. Somehow I manage to stir and go to the kitchen; I haven't eaten all day. I'm not hungry, but I see a bottle of wine in the cupboard above the stove and without thinking too much I take it out and open it.

I'm not a big drinker; I got the whole booze and drugs thing out of the way in junior high. Esme wouldn't tolerate any of that, and by the time I hit college I was past it. Drinking might numb the pain, but the return to reality is so much worse.

But today I need the numbing. I pour myself a tumbler of red wine and take it back to the sofa. I sit and sip the wine and try not to think. Again I'm not sure how much time passes; I've drunk about half the bottle and am feeling pleasantly light-headed and buzzy when the doorbell rings.

I open the door, and Brian stands there, looking tired and slightly disheveled in the suit he wore this morning. He must have just come from work.

"Maddie? Are you okay?"

"Fine," I answer and walk back into the living room. He follows me. I'm still wearing the dress I put on this morning, but I've taken off my heels and stockings. My head feels like it is full of cotton wool, and I can't decide if it is a good feeling or not. "I've had a little bit to drink," I tell him. "But not that much."

"Maybe you should have something to eat," Brian says. "Why don't I order us something?"

"Okay," I answer, shrugging. Brian rifles through the take-out menus I keep in a kitchen drawer and I decide to go and have a quick shower.

By the time I return Brian has ordered us both Thai food, which has arrived in white paper bags and smells delicious.

"I know you like Thai," he tells me. "I've been able to smell it from my apartment."

And in a sudden, slicing flash I can picture Ben and me sitting on the sofa, eating pad Thai. Ben always slurped his noodles, and I actually got annoyed by it. And that little memory is too much; I start to cry. Not just a few elegant tears; I collapse into noisy sobs that I've held in for too long.

"Oh Maddie, oh shit... I'm sorry. What did I say?"

"Nothing," I blubber. "I'm just so tired, Brian, of everything. Everything." And the sobs come tearing out of my throat, ugly and raw sounding; my nose is running and I can taste snot.

Brian puts his arms around me and I weep into his shirt, needing this release. But it's not enough; nothing ever feels like it will be enough. The alcohol and the loneliness and the fear all surge inside me so I lift my head up at Brian and he gazes down at me and even though I know it's not what either of us really want I close the space between our mouths and kiss him.

I don't wait for his response. I grab handfuls of his shirt as I open my mouth against his. I pull at the buttons of his shirt as I kiss him hungrily and he...he doesn't respond.

It takes a few minutes for my wine-fogged brain to realize I'm practically attacking him. A few more agonized seconds as Brian puts his hands over mine and pulls back from my desperate kiss.

"Maddie, no."

Those two firmly spoken words are like a punch to my gut. My face. I draw a ragged breath and scramble off the sofa. I'm so mortified, so hurt, that I can barely breathe.

"I like you," Brian says gently. "But-"

I don't want to hear a but. I can't handle any more rejection right now. "Get out," I say. Brian looks at me miserably.

"Maddie-"

"Get out," I scream, the words ripped from me. I'm crying again, sobs that tear at my chest. "Get out, get out, get out."

He rises from the sofa, still trying to explain. "I just don't think this is the time-"

"Get out." I plant two hands on his chest and push. He stumbles backwards, the stunned look on his face almost comical.

"Maddie, please-"

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" I shout. "Can't you see that's what I want? Just go!"

He shakes his head slowly and says, "I'll talk to you tomorrow." And then he does just what I asked him to, and leaves me alone.

I don't think; I walk to the kitchen and pour myself another glass of wine, which I bolt down. And then another. I feel more than buzzed, slightly sick, and I return to the sofa and curl up on the cushions.

I know I shouldn't have kissed Brian. I know I've wrecked another friendship, the only friendship I had left. I can't seem to keep myself from it, from always wanting more, from craving a connection even though it might destroy me. I thought I was doing better, trying to be healthy and whole and normal, but maybe that's too much for me.

After a few minutes I take out my phone and stare down at the screen, a picture of Ben from a year ago, when we were in the park. The sight of him looking so normal and happy tears at me. I didn't even know what I had, back then. I don't even remember that day.

Recklessly I go to my texts and scroll down my correspondence from Lewis.

I'm not thinking coherently as I type the first text. I'm not really thinking at all. But I keep typing. I spill out all my fears, all my feelings, all my pointless hopes in a series of text messages that I know I'll regret bitterly in the morning. But it feels like a blood-letting, a release of the pressure that has been building inside me, maybe for my whole life. I need to tell him these things. I need him to know. Maybe then I'll move on, and he will too. Maybe this will be a good thing for both of us. Or maybe I'm just that drunk.

I have no idea how long I text Lewis; at some point I stop, exhausted and spent. I throw the phone across the room, and then I curl up on the sofa and fade into sleep.

26.

JOANNA.

The day after I take Josh out of Burgdorf the world feels like a fragile place, as if everything is covered in ice and if we step too hard it will crack. We'll fall through.

I want to inhabit that moment in Lewis's workshop, when he had his arms around us, when I felt we were a ship bobbing alone on a dark sea, but we were safe. Lewis was protecting us.

But that moment ended, and we came home, and now the morning dawns bright and relentless, another day to get through. Another day to endure.

Lewis offers to take the day off to be with Josh, and while I want to stay with them, I know I've taken way too much time off work. Our mortgage is due next week. So I head to my office, my body feeling leaden and heavy, and Lewis takes Josh to the Lego Store.

Josh seems happy to go with Lewis; maybe he's not angry with him any more. He clings to his hand as they leave the apartment. I watch them walk all the way down the block, hand in hand. I cling to that memory just as Josh clings to Lewis's hand. I tell myself we will get through this, one day at a time.

The next day Lewis and I discuss childcare and we agree to split the time with Josh; we can take him to work sometimes, and take other days off. We will make it work through New Year's, but it won't be easy.

The more difficult question is school. "I think we should try PS 84," Lewis says, and even though part of me shrinks from it I agree. At this point I have to admit Burgdorf didn't work out for us, for Josh. Maybe a public school will.

I take Josh to the school on Friday afternoon and register him to start in January. He doesn't say anything as he watches the kids play in a fenced-off asphalt yard that looks like a huge cage. Everything about the place is huge, loud, crowded; I see Josh's eyes widen as he takes it all in, the screaming and shouting kids, the rough play, the teachers who stand like guards by the doors, watching everything indifferently.

He'll be lost in a place like this, but maybe, for a little while at least, that's not a bad thing. Maybe he wouldn't mind being overlooked, even ignored, for a short time, after all the difficulty he's had at Burgdorf.

Lewis and I have called a silent cease-fire to our arguments about Maddie. I know I can't handle thinking about her on top of everything else. Yet every time Lewis's phone buzzes with a text, I tense, and I notice that Josh does too.

He seems happier now that he's away from Burgdorf, but I can tell he is still worried. He watches Lewis and me whenever we're together, assessing us, checking up on us. I don't have the strength to reassure him that everything is going to be okay, because I don't know if it is any more.

I take Josh back to Will Dannon, and once again I strain to listen to the one-sided conversation. Will doesn't tell me anything when the hour is up, and neither does Josh.

"What did you talk about?" I ask as we walk out of the Brownstone.

"I told him things were okay now," Josh says firmly.

I stop, incredulous, hopeful. "Are they okay now, Josh?"

"Yes," he says and turns to look at me. "Everything's okay, Mom. It's all worked out." He nods, as if he's sorted it all himself, and I am bewildered but cautiously happy. I want to believe my son. I want him to be right.

On Friday night Lewis takes Josh out to the new Pixar film that has been released, something knowingly clever where the squirrels in Central Park are the main characters.

I spend the evening cleaning the apartment, trying to stave off all my worries. Christmas is in ten days, and I haven't bought a single present. We do the typical nonreligious Christmas celebration: tree, presents, stockings.

At eight-thirty, as I am tackling the kitchen, I hear a buzzing from the counter and I realize it is Lewis's phone. He must have left it home by accident; they were rushing not to be late for the movie.

The phone buzzes again with another text. And thirty seconds later, it buzzes a third time.

I've never looked at Lewis's phone. That seems too paranoid, even for me, not to mention a total invasion of his privacy. And I trust him. I do.