Ree giggled and leaned into Mrs. Lizbet again, wrapping her arms around the woman’s waist. It wasn’t like Ree to be so affectionate with other adults, and Jason could see in his daughter’s eyes her longing for her mother, for the familiar comfort of a female embrace. Mrs. Lizbet met his gaze above Ree’s head, and he tried not to flinch at her steady appraisal. She was granting him neutral status, it appeared, a step above the police’s immediate distrust, a step below Adele’s sympathetic rush.

“Sweetheart,” Mrs. Lizbet said now, pulling back from Ree, “do you remember Jenna Hill, from the basketball team? Well, I happen to know this is Jenna’s lunch period, and she’s been dying for someone to practice with. What do you think? Can you shoot some hoops?”

Ree’s eyes lit up. She nodded her head vigorously.

Mrs. Lizbet held out her hand. “All right, come with me, child. I’ll take you to Jenna and you can practice together. Your father and I need just a minute, then we’ll join you there.”

It was a gracious way of buying time for frank conversation, and Jason was impressed.

His daughter followed Mrs. Lizbet toward the door, balking only at the last moment. He watched the emotions play out over her face. Her need to be with him, her only anchor in a rapidly disintegrating world, warring with her desire to play with Jenna, a bona fide basketball player, which ranked up there with rock star in a four-year-old’s universe.

Then Ree squared her little shoulders and headed with Mrs. Lizbet down the hall. Jason was left alone in the classroom, already missing Ree ten times more than she could ever miss him, and wondering why he had to be so miswired that hatred fortified him, while love cut him to the bone.

Elizabeth Reyes had served as Sandy’s instructor last year and her mentor this year. Over that time frame, Jason supposed that he had met her at least a dozen times. Him bringing Ree to join Sandy for the occasional lunch. Drop-offs or pickups after school. He would wave, Elizabeth would wave. So many meetings and yet he was certain she would agree that neither of them knew the other well.

Upon returning to the classroom, she closed the door behind her. He watched her glance at the clock, then smooth her skirt nervously. The woman had survived twenty years teaching seventh-graders, however. She stiffened her spine and got on with it.

“So,” she said briskly, moving to the front of the classroom, where he imagined she felt most comfortable. “Phil announced this morning that Sandy has been missing since Wednesday night. He said the police aren’t sure what happened. No one has any leads.”