A laundry basket occupied the single dark green sofa. Juliana flushed, then lowered the plastic bin to the floor without ever releasing her grip on her baby. When she finally sat, she perched on the edge of the cushion, her child held in the middle of her lap as the first line of defense.

D.D. sat on the other end of the sofa. She regarded the drooling baby. The drooling baby stared back at her, then shoved its whole fist in its mouth and made a sound that might have been “Gaa.”

“Cute,” D.D. said, in a voice that was clearly skeptical. “How old?”

“Nathaniel is nine months.”

“Boy.”

“Yes.”

“Walking?”

“Just learned to crawl,” Juliana said proudly.

“Good boy,” D.D. said, and that quickly was out of baby prattle. Good Lord, how was she ever going to be a mom, when she couldn’t even talk to one?

“Do you have a job?” D.D. asked.

“Yes,” Juliana said proudly, “I’m raising my child.”

D.D. accepted that answer, moved on. “So,” she announced curtly. “I imagine you’ve seen the news. The missing girl in Allston-Brighton.”

Juliana regarded her blankly. “What?”

“The Amber Alert? Six-year-old Sophie Leoni, missing from her home in Allston-Brighton?”

Juliana frowned, held her baby a little closer. “What does that have to do with me? I don’t know any child from Allston-Brighton. I live in Arlington.”

“When was the last time you saw Tessa Leoni?” D.D. asked.

Juliana’s reaction was immediate. She stiffened and looked away from D.D., her blue gaze dropping to the hardwood floor. A square block with the letter “E” and a picture of an elephant was by her slippered foot. She retrieved the block and offered it to the baby, who took it from her, then tried to cram the whole thing in his mouth.

“He’s teething,” she murmured absently, stroking her child’s red-flushed cheek. “Poor little guy hasn’t slept in nights, and whimpers to be held all day long. I know all babies go through it, but I didn’t think it would be so hard. Seeing my own child in pain. Knowing there’s nothing I can do but wait.”

D.D. didn’t say anything.

“Sometimes, at night, when he’s crying, I rock and cry with him. I know it sounds corny, but it seems to help him. Maybe no one, not even babies, likes to cry alone.”

D.D. didn’t say anything.

“Oh my God,” Juliana MacDougall exclaimed abruptly. “Sophie Leoni. Sophia Leoni. She’s Tessa’s daughter. Tessa had a little girl. Oh. My. God.”

Then Juliana Howe shut up completely, just sitting there with her baby boy, who was still chewing the wooden block.

“What did you see that night?” D.D. asked the young mother gently. No need to define which night. Most likely, Juliana’s entire life circled back to that one moment in time.