Without Tom, Maggie didn’t have any reason to exist in James’s world. But she smiled anyway. And, with a slight wave, she turned and continued out through the glass doors to the elevator bank, desperate to be alone even if only for the twenty seconds it took to return to the ground floor.

Outside, Maggie was met with a dreary afternoon which matched her mood, the threat of rain looming heavily above in the low-hanging clouds—March weather at its finest.

She navigated the busy sidewalk, hurrying to catch the flashing walk signal to make it across the street to the parking garage. As she started down the concrete stairwell to the basement level where she’d parked, her cell started ringing from the bottom of her handbag. She struggled with the contents of her purse, finally retrieving the vibrating device just in time. But when she noticed the familiar number flashing on the screen, she stopped abruptly, cursing under her breath.

“Maggie speaking,’ she answered with a blunt, knowing tone.

“Maggie, it’s me, Brian.’

What now? Exhaling a heavy breath, she closed her eyes and counted to three before she allowed herself to speak.

“You’re going to have to come pick him up,’ Brian continued over the phone. “Principal Hendry’s suspended him for three days.’

As anger caused her blood to boil just beneath the surface of her skin, she shook her head to herself. “What’s he done this time?’

“Another fight, I’m afraid.’ Brian sighed heavily; he sounded almost as defeated as Maggie felt. “Broke a kid’s nose.’

“Jesus…’ She closed her eyes a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

***

Maggie’s grip on the steering wheel was tight. So tight she could feel the dry skin around her knuckles stretch and strain, turning a stark shade of white. As she pulled up to a stop in the faculty parking lot of the high school, she forced herself to take a moment to compose what she could of her emotions. With a few deep breaths, she watched as the rain drops trickled haphazardly down the windshield in chaotic streaks, an accurate representation of her mind’s state.

Out of the three of them, Tom’s passing had affected Jack the most. Before, he was so kind and thoughtful, selfless and gentle. He was a great kid. Now, he was almost impossible. His mood swings were unpredictable and terrifying. He snapped at Maggie, at TJ. He’d quit the baseball team. He skipped school at least once a week and journeyed into the city to do God knows what with God knows whom. His grades had dropped significantly. All he did now was sit in his bedroom every night—and all day on the weekends—playing video games while listening to offensive heavy metal music. Lately, he’d been violently lashing out. Never at Maggie, and never at his little brother. But he’d been getting into fights at school with boys who used to be his best friends.