Mary was Charlie’s teacher for a year before she retired, so I think for a second he’s trying to show off, but when I look at him, I see that he’s folding a blade of grass in half like a whistle, over and over, concentrating hard on it.

He doesn’t look up.

“Still a clever lad, I see.” Mary raises her eyebrows, her eyes distant, checking his work.

“You know, I think that’s right.” Brian says it lightly, but he looks as troubled as I’m beginning to feel. “Sunset’s … what?”

“Nine thirty-eight,” Charlie answers.

I wish Charlie’s mind were as quiet as Emma’s right now. She’s curled up exhausted in my lap, eyelids drooping, while he sits up straight, crisscross applesauce, hands flat on his knees. He’s stoic as a statue, that boy, but he’s taking on the weight of this. I can see it pinning him to the lawn.

I watch him until his blue eyes turn to meet mine, and smile: you’re safe, Charlie, I’m here.

He only stares back. “Where’s Daddy?”

“He’s inside.”

Charlie stands and starts jogging toward the house so quickly my heart lurches.

“Oh!” I let out a strangled cry, rising to reach for him. “Careful!”

He turns back. Emma tumbles from my lap with a start, and I gasp from the thud she makes. She’s fine, she’s fine. She begins to cry, reaching for my neck, but Jo swoops in, my hero again, taking Emma in her arms so I can stand and reach for my firstborn.

“Stay here, Charlie, please; it’s safer out here.”

“Why is it safer?” His forehead scrunches.

I have no answer. “I’ll go get Daddy, okay? He can join the picnic.”

This at least seems to make sense to him. He examines the sandwiches as I walk past the platter.

“I’ll save him a ham one,” Charlie says, nudging a cut triangle into a napkin.

“You eat too, sweetie,” I call over my shoulder. “Have a cheese sandwich.”

“I will,” he murmurs. “Just not ’til you get back.”

“Okay.”

I close my eyes for a second against a waft of pain. As much as he seems to be taking in, as old as he seems for his age, Charlie still believes he’s safer with me here. I’m his mother, and he has absolute faith in my ability to prevent harm. I don’t even know the Heimlich maneuver or basic CPR. I don’t know anything that can help anyone here. I have never felt more useless in my entire life.

“Okay, won’t be a second. Guard those sandwiches.”

I’m careful climbing the steps, but the image still blooms once I reach the top—me lying there in place of Avery, my head impaled, no one else hurt. Oh God, if only. If I could take it on for everyone, I would.