A prism hanging in the window spilled rainbows across Piper’s desk. Andrea’s palms were so itchy she wondered if she was having an allergy attack, which used to happen sometimes in school when she was young. Her gaze slid to the picture of the boy on the phone again. North had a shock of slick, dark hair cut in a trendy style. It was the haircut Arthur wanted before starting Silver Swans. The problem was, his hair was curly and didn’t lay flat in that surfer style; it had ended up kind of puffy. In the end, they’d just buzzed it all off. But Arthur had liked that, too, though. He was an easy kid.

Except maybe he wasn’t easy. Maybe she had it all wrong.

“To use a line from the medical community,” Piper added, “when we hear hoofbeats, we look for horses, not zebras. The person who’s most attuned with your identity, your difference, is your own child. Most children that age are so self-involved they rarely notice people around them, especially not adults. The kids probably looked at you, in a dress, and thought lady. They don’t know to think anything else. They take things at face value. But your son understands this at a deeper level.” She laced her fingers together. “You haven’t done anything wrong. No one has. We’re going to get through this.”

Horses, not zebras, Andrea thought miserably. Every mother wanted to think their child was unusual, that he defied the odds. There wasn’t necessarily shame in a therapist. Hell, if it weren’t for Dr. Westin, Andrea wouldn’t be living her life now.

“You can count on me,” Andrea said. She leaned across the table and shook Piper’s hand. “Thanks for all your help.”

Eight

The sun streamed through the windows like liquid gold as Lauren poured herself her third cup of coffee. It was Thursday morning. She was trying to calculate the amount of sleep she’d gotten last night—an hour snatched here, forty-five minutes there, a big chunk of time blearily watching a Law & Order rerun—but her brain refused to do the math. When she finally dozed off, it was blissful, but she’d slept in far too late. Now she felt hungover.

She swiveled around when she heard keys in the lock. The door swung open. First the stroller appeared, then Graham. Though when he saw her, a flare of surprise registered on his face. Then he smiled.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You’re finally up!”

“Where were you?” There was something sweaty about Graham, like he’d been exercising. Her gaze drifted to the stroller. It wasn’t their jogging stroller.