“The Son Who Failed to Reply.” Once upon a time, there was a son who, when called, failed to reply. Was he deliberately ignoring her? Because pre-adolescent? Was he masturbating yet? Was that her business? The mother faithfully checked underwear/sheets for signs of masturbation, so that, as needed, she could let him know, in her quiet way, that everyone, even famous people, even our great, historical—­

“A Time for Oneself.” George Washington, twelve years of age, lay in his bed. A four-poster, which had been made, as all beds were back then, by hand. Was it weird? What he’d been imagining? Their neighbor Mrs. Betsy Alcott, in that form-fitting bodice, reaching over to take off his tricorn hat? No: if a person felt something, it was, by definition, “normal.” If he found himself touching himself while imagining the slender Mrs. Alcott bringing her quill pen absentmindedly to her full lips, no doubt other little boys in other times and places had felt inclined to touch themselves while imagining similar things. Therefore, it was fine, what he was doing! He suddenly felt so free and, feeling free, began to dream of a new land, a land where all could feel as free as—­

Lord. Nearly noon.

Time to sit down and actually write something.

Where was Derek, though? Seriously? She worried. As a baby, he’d had a collapsed lung.

You good? she’d called out last night, from bed.

You’re turning him into a nervous wreck, Keith had said.

I’m fine, Derek had called from his room. Also, not deaf.

Lungs still going? Keith said.

Far as I can tell, Derek said.

We just worry, she said. We love you so much.

Right back atcha, Derek said.

Then there’d been this sweet silence.

She adored it. Having a family. TV families were always fricked up, but hers was something else entirely. They liked one another. Had so much fun. Trusted one another and confided in one another and accepted one another just as they were, no matter what.

Not out front, not out back.

What the hell, seriously? He’d promised to stay in the yard. And this was a kid who never broke a promise.

“The Boy Whose Bad Lung Conked Out in the Woods.”

“The Boy Who Lay Feebly Calling Out for His Mom.”

“The Boy Who Died Utterly Alone and Became One with the Spirits of the Forest.”

And evermore the mother wandered the woods, seeking her lost boy. Eek.

“The Mom Who Rushed into the Woods but Once There Forgot How to Do CPR but Then Suddenly Remembered.”

Oh God, oh God. Her cheeks were so hot.

Derek was hurt somewhere. She just knew it. A mother knew these things.

She grabbed her cellphone and the first-aid kit and—­

Wait, whoa, hold on.