Shelley can’t say how long she has been sitting in the kitchen crying; it’s such a relief just to get home and collapse. She is relieved to have her job back and that justice was served, relieved that Harvey’s teacher is so kind and attentive, but also horrified by all the ways she is failing as a mother. She goes to get a paper towel to wipe her nose, and that’s when she notices that green Toyota parked down at the corner by the woods. Not today. He cannot come inside this house today.

A door down the hall creaks on its hinges and then slams shut, and she nearly jumps out of her skin. The wind? She glances out on the porch, where Peggy is curled up in a pool of sunlight. Has Harvey been spying on her? She tiptoes down the hall; the door to Jason’s room is closed, and she stands, her ear pressed close, and she hears something in there. A radio? Someone talking? She puts her hand on the knob and, with a deep breath, pushes it open to see Jason sitting on his bed, headphones off to the side, a stack of papers and newspaper clippings spread out in front of him.

“Jason! Oh my God!” she says, both relieved to see him and sorry for him to see her looking this way. “You scared me!”

“You scared me,” he says, and stares like he’s looking right through her.

“Harvey will be so excited.” She turns to call him. “Let me—”

“No. I don’t want Harvey to hear this. I’ll see him later.”

“Hear what? What’s going on?” She steps closer now.

“Why don’t you tell me, Mom?” His voice is angry, shaking like he’s about to cry, too. “Why don’t you explain everything to me?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, for starters, Harvey calls me every day, has since school started, saying he’s scared because you cry every night.”

“Not every night,” she says. “I lost my job, but I got it back. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you.” She steps closer, shocked to see the headlines and dates of the newspaper articles around him: June 1994—partly cloudy and humid—highs in the 90s. “Harvey gets scared at night, but he’s okay.” domestic assault: 1 critically injured and 1 missing. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I had to pick a topic to research,” he says. “The professor said pick something you know practically nothing about, and so I chose my family.” Jason pulls up a handful of the copied articles. “So tell me the truth. When I asked if you were getting a divorce from Brent, you said you weren’t sure, and now I know that you were never married. Not to Brent, and not to my dad.”

“But it was like we were.”