He tried various positions with his lips, screwing up his features this way and that. Grieving husband, he reminded himself. Grieving husband.

His mother was right—he could rearrange his entire face, and his eyes still gave him away. He looked like a man with a thousand-yard stare.

He’d keep his head down, he decided. Bowed with grief. It was the best he could do.

In the back, Ree finally yawned, stretching out her arms and legs. She looked at him, then looked at Mr. Smith, then at the scene outside her window.

She recognized the building and perked up immediately. “Is Mommy here? Are we picking up Mommy?”

He winced, choosing his words carefully. “Do you remember how the police sent out officers to help us find Mr. Smith?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, we’re going to do the same thing for Mommy. The police are sending officers to look for her, but also, our friends want to help. So we’re going to talk to Mommy’s friends and see if they can help us find her. Just like we did with Mr. Smith.”

“Mr. Smith came home,” Ree said.

“Exactly. And with any luck, Mommy will come home, too.”

Ree nodded, seemed content. It was the first real discussion they’d had regarding Sandy’s disappearance, and it went about as well as he could expect. Of course, children cycled in and out of strong emotions. At the moment, Ree was still exhausted from the morning’s ordeal and eager to be pacified. Later, when the grief and rage returned …

He got out of the car, unloaded Ree. They left Mr. Smith behind with the same Rabid Cat signs posted on the front and back windows. Jason didn’t trust middle school students any more than the gangs of Roxbury.

They hit the front admin office, Jason with his head bowed, Ree clutching Lil’ Bunny.

“Mr. Jones!” Adele, the school secretary, greeted them immediately. The rush of sympathy in her voice, the pitying look she bestowed upon Ree hit him in the solar plexus, and for a moment, he stood there, honestly stunned, blinking at the rush of moisture in his eyes. He didn’t have to pretend anything, because at that precise moment, for the first time, Sandy’s disappearance became real. She was gone, and he was the grieving husband, alone with his bewildered kid.

His knees wobbled. He almost went down, in the middle of his wife’s school, looking at the linoleum she trod upon five days a week, the walls she gazed at five days a week, the front desk she passed by five days a week.