“Taking Jessica to Brownies.” He climbs into the backseat. “Can we just go? If we don’t hurry, the game will be over by the time we get there.”

William’s not far off: There’s just an inning left. The coach puts him in with one out, but the next play is a double play, and like that, the game is over.

His team loses, and William clutches his bag of chips and Gatorade provided by this week’s snack mom as we drive home. He says nothing, doesn’t eat, just sits next to me in the passenger seat, staring out the window.

“Where were you?” William finally blurts, hostility rolling off him in waves.

I shoot him a side glance. “Why?”

His shoulders shrug and he gives me a look hard enough, sharp enough, to cut. “Dad says you have a boyfriend. Were you with him?”

My heart sinks. “No.”

“But you do have a boyfriend?”

God, Daniel, you’re a piece of work. “No.”

“Dad says you do in Hawaii.”

“I’m not in Hawaii, am I? I’m right here, in my car, feeling horrible because I made you miss your game.” My throat aches, and I clutch the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, William. I’m sorry about the game. And your dad—” I break off, hold my breath, fighting for calm, fighting for the right tone.

I can’t bad-mouth Daniel to the kids, but these are my children, too, and it’s not fair of him to poison them against me. This is not a competition. Not war.

“But you are dating,” William persists sullenly.

“I had a few dates here in Seattle before Christmas, but it was just coffee, nothing more.” I signal, turn, and soon we’re passing the Arboretum.

“So where were you today, then?”

“The doctor’s.”

William turns to look at me, his expression uncertain. “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Because if you’re sick—”

“Baby, I’m fine.”

He hesitates and then nods, and we drive the rest of the way home in silence. It’s dark by the time we reach the house, and Lisa and Jessica are in the kitchen eating Goldfish crackers, string cheese, and sliced apples. “Hey,” Lisa says, sliding off a bar stool. “I didn’t know what you’d planned for dinner, but Jess was hungry.”

“It’s okay.” I fish for my checkbook, cut her a check for the week’s work, and let her say good-bye to the kids before I face them. And for the first time in a long time, I haven’t anything to say.

Finally I draw a breath. “Finish your homework. I’ll start dinner. Is spaghetti okay?”

Jessica starts to protest, but William elbows her and she yelps but then concedes. “Fine,” she says grumpily, thumping her cast on the counter. “As long as we can have garlic bread, too.”