The baby had to stay in the hospital for a while, and so did I. Every night, Craig came to see us and told us how the boys were doing. Nat had shaved their heads. She said there was a head lice scare in school, but I doubted that. She had always wanted them shorn. Then there was church. She had taken them twice in one week. Craig said she even went out and bought them new, Christian-looking clothes. We laughed about it. She was living in the house. Of course she was—how else could Craig get to work by eight?

I felt so peaceful once the baby was born. I felt like I would never plan a thing again. I was cocooned in the present, all alone with baby Adam. He had to be in an incubator the first couple of days, when I wasn’t breastfeeding him, but after that they let me keep him in my room. I just stared into his face for hours. The truth is, I was a little wary about going back to real life.

But finally the day came. We drove up to the house, and I saw Kyle, my big-boned boy, walking outside with the garden hose. He had a crew cut and was wearing a red-and-white-checked shirt tucked into his jeans. He looked like something out of Leave It to Beaver. “Hey!” I said. He ran to the car and looked at me shyly. He’d only been to the hospital to visit twice. He was getting used to life without me. As he peered through the back window to take a look at the baby, I wondered: If I die, how long will he remember my face, my voice? How long till he never dreams about me anymore? The main thing I loved about being a mother was being indispensable. The front door opened and Nat stood wearing a maroon sweatsuit, her hand on Tyler’s shoulder. I got out of the car and hugged both boys.

“I hate the baby,” Tyler announced.

“Oh, now,” said Nat, “he’s your brother. He’s gonna be your buddy. For now he’s just a baby.” She reached in, cooing, and took Adam from the car seat, set him on her mammoth breast, where he looked as small as a ferret. I felt a mixture of envy and relief. I was so tired.