The local elementary school seemed well prepared to deal with gifted children, but there was a downside. They only offered half-day kindergarten. She was supposed to have all-day kindergarten by now. She’d waited five years for all-day kindergarten, five years to stop relying on her mother for child care—her mother, who had worked full time when Suzanne was growing up, who, thanks to some nifty stock options, now had all the time in the world to sing and play hide-and-seek with her grandson. While Suzanne worked. Not that she minded working; she loved working. But she wanted both: to be a success in her work and to be the one her son adored. It didn’t seem like too much to ask. Half-day kindergarten? By the time she dropped him off at school and got the breakfast dishes done it would be time to pick him up again. She vetoed Grant’s suggestion he go to aftercare, having done time in it herself for so many years, and a sitter was out of the question: Adam would just transfer his affections from her mother to the sitter, leaving Suzanne in the cold again.

Things were not happening as planned. Half-day kindergarten was the first misfortune. The second was running: she was supposed to have made her best time ever in the New York City Marathon last November, not blow out her knee, reducing herself to a hobbling jogger. Misfortune number three: Grant was supposed to have made partner at his firm in Richmond. They were going to move to the countryside after that, buy an old house and refurbish it. She’d had one all picked out.

And on top of all that, the maraschino cherry on the tippy top of her problem sundae, was another potential possible maybe fourth problem. The evidence was not all in. Her breasts were tender, which might just mean that her period was on its way. She was late, but being late was not unusual. Maybe it was the flu—easy to get when you were run down from moving. How could she be pregnant? She and Grant had only had sex a couple of times since The Incident. Her disappointment in him had been keen. It still was. She thought he’d changed.

Suzanne needed a vacation. The camping trip on Chincoteague in August had been anything but relaxing: Grant and Suzanne had barely been on speaking terms. They’d spent the week fending off mosquitoes, ticks, and sunburns. Then there were the deer—great lingering herds of them, which were pastoral when they were off in the meadow, but downright spooky when they clustered around the picnic table staring like orphaned children.

Adam looked up at her from the kitchen floor. “My head hurts, Mommy.”

“Mine, too, sweet pea. Moving is hard work.” She had an urge to sit down with him, to cuddle him in her lap and finger his curls, but there was so much to do.