I shake my head. It’s something I’ve been wondering about. It’s on my mind. But right now, I have Will to take care of. I have to take care of him first.

Sully nods, as if he’s heard my entire thought pattern. “So the town house is nice?”

“Chase helped me choose linens. They’re far too fancy for me.”

“That’s good,” Sully says. “You deserve some nice things.”

I blush, although I’m not sure why. “Chase helped me move in, too. The house is little but clean, new, simple. I can’t believe I have the key.”

“There you go,” Sully says, sad eyes smiling. “Not everything’s a battle anymore.”

We both sip our coffee while I wonder if there’s anyone in his life who’ll give him a hug. Chase has become my person. When he’s in town, he hangs out for long afternoons with Will on his lap and sports on the television. Just like old times. Almost.

“And have you—” Sully begins, but he’s distracted by someone behind me. I turn to see a woman with a child—a little boy with socks on but no shoes, something hard and yellow caked on the front of his shirt. The woman is thin, way too thin, and the smell of nicotine wafts from the fabric of her coat.

“Evelyn Floyd,” Sully whispers, and I try not to stare—this stranger who was pivotal to me getting my son back. She looks tragically familiar. I’ve known women like her all my life, the ragged strays, the ones who’ve drunk more in their life than they’ve eaten.

“Buster,” she’s saying, running after him with his shoes. “Put these on. You’re in public, you have to behave.” She grabs him and kneels, helping him with his laces. “Right. One, two, buckle my shoe. Now, are you having a cookie or a muffin?” They wander to the far end of the bakery where the display cases are.

I turn back to Sully, hold Will a little tighter. “She’s doing her best,” I say.

He nods.

“I wanted to thank you,” I say after a moment, “for everything you did. I couldn’t have gotten Will back without you.”

He rotates his coffee mug an inch. “It’s okay. Once in a while, good wins out in the end.”

I nibble at my scone and say nothing.

“Have you seen Alex at all?” I ask.

“No,” he says. “She’s awaiting trial. I don’t think I can see her.” He could. He means he doesn’t want to.