“This is an early start,” Iris says. The boys were awfully quiet; she didn’t even hear Grant let Peter in the house.

“Grant asked me to take him to school,” Peter says. “He didn’t want to take the bus today.”

“Do you feel up to school, babe?” Iris asks Grant. He nods.

She wonders if Kyle will go to work. He should, she decides. They can’t just sit in limbo.

“Ned is going, too.” Peter’s gaze meets hers.

Iris stares. Surely Ned should take at least a week off. Peter shrugs.

Peter says, “I’ve never told you how cool it is that you write songs.”

“Oh, well, used to. I don’t really write anymore.” The last time she heard one of her songs out in public, it was at the grocery store, piped into the aisles, and she embarrassed herself by singing along as she shopped for breakfast cereal.

“I have my mom’s CDs from the nineties, and I went through them and found five songwriting credits to you.”

Iris flushes with pleasure. “Oh. Well. How nice.”

“You’re, like, the coolest mom in Lakehaven,” Peter says, and for a moment Iris wonders about this boy who has kept to himself so much, who hasn’t seemed to mind when his own father spent extra time with Grant. He’s an odd duck but a sweet kid, and she feels a swelling of gratitude that Peter is shepherding Grant through this difficult time.

“I wish I knew how to write a song,” Peter says. “I’d like to write about what it’s like to come to America.” He laughs. “All the way from Toronto.”

“Just write it. You learn by doing,” Iris says.

“Did you ever want to write about bringing Grant from Russia?” Peter asks. “The way you wrote about Julia being so ill when she was little?”

The smile freezes. For the barest moment. “Oh, gosh, no. I don’t know that he would want me to.”

“I wouldn’t care,” Grant says, not knowing if he would care or not.

“Who would sing it, honey, except me?”

“Danielle once told me,” Peter says, “that she encouraged all her clients to keep an adoption journal. I bet one written by a songwriter would be fascinating reading.” He sips at his coffee. He glances at Grant. Iris notices that Grant is staring at her.

Iris keeps her smile steady. “I did not do that. With the tidal wave of paperwork, I couldn’t manage it.”

“Where in Russia did you get Grant?” Peter asks. “Moscow?”

“Saint Petersburg. Well, near it.”

“Have you ever wanted to go back?”

“Never,” Iris says. “I mean, if Grant wants to go, of course we’ll take him, but he’s never wanted to go. It would be best to wait until he’s an adult.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Grant says. “I’d like to go back soon. Like, maybe my next school break.”