I decide not to correct his grammar, but Stuart does. “It’s Daddy and I, not Daddy and me.” Then to me, “It’s the only way you can talk to the monkeys. The reception in the jungle is so bad that cell phones don’t work.”

“Say hello for me,” I say.

“Why don’t you get a phone so you can talk too?” Jacob asks.

I take the banana out of Stuart’s hand. Into the end of the peel I say, “Mr. Gorilla, this is Jacob’s mom. I just wanted to say hello. I hope you have a nice day swinging from the trees.”

I hand the banana back to my husband and then kiss Jacob on the top of the head. After I kiss Stuart on the lips, I head out the door.

As soon as I log on to my computer, I see that the preliminary hearing being handled by one of the younger ADAs has been adjourned. I had planned on observing, but it’s the prerogative of judges to cancel things at the last minute, which means that my morning has suddenly become free. On most days that would be grounds to celebrate, or at least to attend to the various matters that are piling up on my desk. Today, however, work is the last thing on my mind. I close my office door and ponder how things got to this point—and whether there’s anything I can possibly do to make them better. Or at least different.

By 5:30, the only thing preventing me from leaving is my concern that Stuart will have a heart attack if I arrive home before eight o’clock two days in a row. So I sit in my office, still with my door shut, and play on the Internet. I decide to hide out here until at least seven. That way, I’ll still make it home before Jacob goes to bed.

My cell phone jolts me back to the world of the living. I grab it out of my purse as if it’s going to explode if I don’t get to it in time. Still, I’m too late. The caller didn’t let the phone ring long enough for me to answer and didn’t leave a voice-mail message. No matter, it looks like a wrong number anyway. The caller ID indicates an 801 area code, which I recall from a case that I had years ago as being somewhere in Utah.

I sit at my desk with my iPhone in hand, trying to will it to ring again. If only I would get a text message. Anything to tell me that I’m not alone in feeling the way I do.

But when I lay the device on my desk again, it stays silent and black.