“When you go home,” she whispered, “you need to go upstairs to your room and close the door and not come out until you write a note that says you’re sorry to the boy and his mom. You can ask Grammy Belle or Dylan to help you with the spelling.”

She paused, feeling clueless. How could you have “identical” twins, yet one could spell perfectly, and the other wasn’t even close? And yet Taylor, in all kinds of intangible ways, seemed to be the more perceptive one, more aware of hard truths. How did this happen? She felt panicky, without knowing precisely why. She needed Harley, his ability to calm his excitable mom, his steady and good-humored hand with the boys, his strong arms around her—she needed him now.

“And then,” she continued into her little boy’s ear, “you need to write a note to Dylan and your grandmother that says you’re sorry that they had to leave the pool before they wanted to leave the pool. You may not come out of your room to run in the sprinkler until you’ve finished this. Two notes that say, I’m sorry. Do you understand?”

Taylor crinkled his Sprite can and took a sip, scowling hard.

“Do you? Say, I understand.”

“I understand.”

Her heart hurt. This didn’t feel right.

“We all love you,” she said out loud and heard Belle snort. “Even when we don’t like something that you do, we all always love you, Taylor. Always. No matter what.”

Her eyes stung as she rolled the van door shut.

She turned to face Belle.

“What is it?” she demanded. “What are you not telling me?”

“Kumbaya and all,” the boys’ grandmother answered testily, stepping on her cigarette. “But none of this nonsense is what I really came to say to you.”

The sheriff tensed. It seemed a week ago that Belle had seen her peeing on the dandelion leaves, then tossing out the jar’s contents and rushing to put on her uniform to go investigate some other mother’s dead child in a ditch.

“OK, Mom. I’m listening.”

“I gotta tell you, mother-to-mother,” Belle rasped, “that I always felt two kids was more than plenty. Let alone three already.”

Belle fixed her with a challenging glare.

“But four kids? Or five?”

“Mom, I’m not sure I’m actually—”

She felt her insides twist harder. She couldn’t even say the word. She couldn’t be. She had no room for another. The family had no room. The world had no room.

“Well, you shouldn’t be unsure at all, should you?”

“What does that mean? I shouldn’t be unsure?”

“You shouldn’t even be wondering if you’re knocked up, should you?” Belle challenged her.

“What are you talking about? How is this even your business?”