She had ordered the remainder of the Christmas gifts on the Internet and skipped the school arts alliance party and the neighborhood block party. She kept listening to the same Christmas CDs she’d installed for the Christmas party; the thought of picking new ones, changing them, pushing the tray back in, exhausted her. She felt she was sleepwalking until life brought to her the next link in this chain of events.

She believed her lethargy existed in her own private bubble, in her own commonplace world—that no one noticed her slipping fortitude, her sense of an impending destiny over which she had no control. Yet her son came close to detecting her confused state of mind when he and Lisbeth broke up a few days after Christmas.

For the thousandth time Amy sang “Winter Wonderland.” The kids were both home, usually sleeping till noon, eating at odd hours, and she was never sure whether she was cleaning up breakfast or lunch. She’d already put away all the laundry.

The phone rang and she moved toward the living room, searched for the portable that never seemed to reside in its cradle when Jack was home. “Where is the phone?” she called from the kitchen, swinging the door open.

Jack and Lisbeth sat on the couch, holding hands, gazing at each other. Lisbeth was crying—again. Amy rolled her eyes just in time for Lisbeth to turn and see her. This opened the water works once more.

“You okay, darling?” Amy thought she’d better ask.

“No, your son just broke up with me. I know it’s because you told him to.”

Jack held his hand up to his mother—a warning not to speak. But Amy felt free-floating, able to say anything within her own warped time and space. It didn’t really matter what she did or said—circumstances just played out the way they wanted to, didn’t they?

“Jack?” Amy asked. She looked at the side of Lisbeth’s face, seeing Nick’s defiant chin.

“I’m not breaking up with her.” He touched Lisbeth’s arm. “We’re not breaking up.”

“I call seeing other people breaking up.” Lisbeth spoke clearly, considering the effort it took to cry so hard.

“I don’t,” Jack said, and motioned for his mother to leave the room. She tried to move her feet, but couldn’t.

“Now why would you two break up?” Amy waved her hand around in the air.

“Mom. Please.” Jack looked up, opened his eyes wide.

Lisbeth wiped at her face.

Amy plowed on. “Really, hon. Why would you break up when there’s no reason to? Why would you leave each other, when no one has left or gone away or done . . . anything? It’s not like you’re in love with someone else . . . or moving.”

Lisbeth released Jack’s hand, turned to Amy. “What?”

Jack stood and pulled Lisbeth from the couch. “Let’s go.”