Piper was looking at the drawing again. “This sort of anger is concerning for us as well. We don’t approve of bullying of any kind, and a child with emotional issues like these—well, it may be worth considering if this place is the right fit for him.”

“What?” Andrea shot up. “You’re kicking Arthur out? He didn’t even do anything!”

“Of course not.” Piper’s voice was honeyed again. “But I do think it’s worth laying the groundwork to make sure Arthur’s on a good psychological path. A kernel of anger like this”—she held up the photo, which now scandalized Andrea so badly she couldn’t look at it—“can lead to bigger things, against other children. We need to properly address it.”

“So wait a minute,” Andrea said, backtracking. “Hold on. If I went to Miss Barnes right now, she’d back up that Arthur drew this? She’d say she saw him?” It seemed like such an oversight. “Why wouldn’t she have brought it to my attention already?”

Piper placed the drawing facedown on the coffee table. “Teachers encourage children to draw and create throughout the day, but they can’t supervise everyone all the time. Most likely, Miss Barnes told Arthur that he could put his artwork in his messenger bag so he could bring it home. Arthur might have drawn the picture and put it away before Miss Barnes saw it.”

“But . . .” Andrea trailed off. Could that have happened?

“Would you like to see a picture of my son?” Piper suddenly blurted.

Andrea blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I mean, maybe seeing a picture of him will help you normalize family therapy.” She grabbed her phone again and pulled up an image. “This is from a few years ago, but he looks about the same.”

It was a school picture of a boy of about ten. He sat straight and stared slightly away from the camera with a serious expression on his face. Andrea thought he looked familiar. “This is North,” Piper said vehemently. “This is my baby. All I wanted was the best for him. He was angry, too. Confused. And lost. But we got help. Which didn’t just help him—it helped every child he was around after that. Isn’t that what you want? We do what we can, we make the sacrifices where we can, for the good of everyone? For the community?”

Andrea opened her mouth, then shut it again. This felt like guerilla warfare, deflecting and obfuscating and twisting the conversation. “I . . . do believe that,” she said slowly. “Of course I do.”

Piper clasped her hands at her throat. “Good. So I can get you a few therapist names, then? Really, there are some wonderful ones around here.”