I take two ibuprofen from the bottle in my center console, shake two more into Jonah’s hand, and say, “It’ll all be over soon.”

We rehearse our story one last time. Jonah doesn’t need to know that his meltdown was timed perfectly with mine. He only needs to think that I’m rescuing him despite everything he’s done to hurt me. In turn, he’s agreed to one proviso. If Walsh asks about the young man who was in my passenger seat when Officer Diaz pulled me over to complicate life with a speeding ticket, Jonah is to say that it was him. My son wanted context. I told him he has no right to ask questions, but if he must know, I’d given Nick a ride to the store that morning—Jonah had been sleeping—and forgot all about it. Changing the time line now would complicate everyone’s lives. When Jonah hesitated, I made it clear that my participation in his colossal cover-up was contingent upon his assistance in my white lie.

Of course, my help is a crapshoot, and our plan won’t gild my image, but we picked the softest available sin. Yesterday, after Jonah spilled his guts, but before he packed his things for Vanessa’s, we brainstormed options and decided to blame the guy who’s not here to defend himself. Jonah researched the relevant details on his computer, not mine. We talked through a loose script, leaving enough truth in our fiction for it to feel real. Even having covered our bases, and even with the true parts anchoring my ethics, I still sweat on our way past the front desk once we enter the building. I hope to hell I won’t break out in hives on our way up the elevator, down the hall to Walsh’s office, and all the way to the receptionist who takes us to her boss like we’re very important people.

Walsh greets us but does not comment on the weather. He doesn’t waste our time with idle drivel, either. He gestures for us to sit in the two folding chairs on the other side of his desk, and we do, and he waits. When the silence gets weird, he tells Jonah, “I am sorry for your loss.”

Jonah thanks him, and looking down at his hands, says, “When you asked if I knew any reasons Nick might want to take his own life, I said no, and I meant that. It wasn’t a lie. There still aren’t any reasons good enough to do what he did. It still doesn’t make sense.”

“What Jonah is trying to say,” I explain, “is that he can’t comprehend any excuse for Nick’s decision, which is why it didn’t occur to him to share with you the things he told me last night.”