“Why don’t you take him out by yourself this Saturday?” Curtis says. “I have to attend a seminar.”

“Sure, honey,” I say. “Good idea.”

I’ve been having bad dreams and sleeping poorly. I have a blotchy rash on my chin, and my joints ache. I’m getting migraines. I don’t feel like hanging out with Alex, who snivels all the time, but Curtis doesn’t want me to move in or get married until he feels Alex is comfortable with me. I ask Alex what he’d like to do, and he shrugs. I get him into the car, the Range Rover that Susan killed herself in, and buckle him into his seat belt.

We head to a coffee shop to get some breakfast. As we’re driving I look at Alex and see tears streaking his face.

“What now?” I ask.

“I miss my mother,” he says. All Alex knows is that his mother is dead.

A dazzling scotoma appears in my field of vision, harbinger to a migraine. And me without a pain pill.

“I’m sorry about your mommy, honey,” I say to him. The first throbs descend on my brain. “But she’s in heaven. With God. She must be happy there.” My mouth has a metallic taste, like I’ve been sucking a lead pipe.

“She’s not happy, not without me and Daddy,” he says. “I hate you. I wish you were dead.” His small body convulses with sobs. My head hurts so bad I have to pull the car over. I’m nauseated and break into a sweat. I’ve just enough time to open the car door and vomit the coffee I had earlier, then bile. I’m drenched, my shirt sticks to my body and sweat streams from my armpits. I feel a tapping. I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and turn to see Alex, who’s undone his seat belt and is kneeling on the seat, rubbing my back and shoulder with his hand, his face anxious and tearstained.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean it.” He covers his face with his hands. I put my arms around his sturdy little body and my nose fills with his boy smell. He hugs me, trembling. Each beat of my heart is a wrenching explosion in my brain. I left some Excedrin Migraine back at Curtis’s house.