...along with her Sesame Street underwear that has her name written inside the waist, and all Lucy can think of when one of the detectives asks her to identify the item—being careful not to tell anyone about the thing she herself found—is that Sarah will be so upset when she finds out that the splotches of blood have forever bound Big Bird’s wings and blotted out Elmo’s grin, sunny day, singing my cares away, can you tell me how to get, how to get to—

—a few things we need to discuss before breaking up this week,” said Dr. Astbury, taking her place behind the podium as Detective Emerson smiled at the polite applause the group offered.

“Here it comes,” whispered Lucy to herself. Time to see if the rumors were true.

Detective Emerson looked to Dr. Astbury and, at her prompting, said, “I’m sure that most of you have read about Timothy Beals in the paper recently. As you may or may not know, Mr. Beals was charged with second-degree murder thirteen years ago in the death of his three-year-old daughter—”

“—and he was released a month ago after serving twelve years of a twenty-five-year sentence,” snapped Lucy. Everyone in the room turned to look at her.

“Yes,” said Emerson. “He’s currently residing in the Spencer Halfway House. One of the many conditions of his parole is that he attend therapy sessions twice a week. One session is private, one-on-one, but the other needs to be in a group environment.”

“I think,” said Dr. Astbury, “that it might be good for both him and us if that group were to be ours.”

Shocked silence. How dare they suggest that a child murderer become part of this?

“Look,” said Emerson, “I know this seems…well, thoughtless, under the circumstances, but I can assure you that Tim harbors a great deal of remorse and guilt over what he did. I agree with Dr. Astbury—I think it could benefit everyone involved if you would allow Tim to become part of this group.”

“I don’t mean to sound crass, either,” added Dr. Astbury, “but the truth of the matter is that, legally, we cannot prevent Timothy from joining. It would be preferable if we agreed to welcome him, but one way or the other, he will be here next week.”

“He might goddamn well be the only one here, then,” said someone from the back row.

Several people voiced their agreement.

Emerson pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. “Look, folks, I can understand your resentment, okay?” He held up the folded paper. “But this is a court order. I’d really rather not have to serve this to Dr. Astbury, but I will if I have to.”

“Why don’t you want to serve it?” asked Lucy.

“Because cooperation is preferable to coercion.”

“Good answer.”

“What…what exactly did he do to the girl, anyway?” asked another member of the group.

Detective Emerson opened his mouth to answer but was cut off when Lucy said: “Tim Beals and his buddies were having a party. It was a Friday night and someone had brought along some crank or coke or acid or something like that, and Tim was pretty stoked. His girlfriend, the mother, was visiting her parents in Pennsylvania and had left their daughter with Tim because she was too sick to travel—says a lot about Mommy, doesn’t it? Selfish bitch goes off and leaves a little girl with a guy she knows drinks and parties and—never mind.”