Her eyes adapted to the dark inside her daughter’s room and she saw April’s legs twitch in her sleep. There were snoring noises, sick-sounding but still reassuring. She closed the door again and went back to sit in the solarium. Her daughter had been sleeping for about fifteen straight hours but in a way it played into Cynthia’s desire to be able to put off talking to her until Adam was home from work. Not that she wanted April to think it was some kind of intervention or something. Hard to get up on any kind of moral high horse when she’d spent the last thirty-six hours involuntarily remembering all the times she herself had been high and in a car, as a passenger or, God help her, behind the wheel, back when she was April’s age. She wasn’t about to deliver a lecture on the subject when the fact that she was here at all was nothing more than evidence of a charmed life.

Two hours with the lawyers this morning, two hours to go over the ways in which April’s name could be kept out of any court papers and then, as a separate issue, out of the press as well. They didn’t pretend it wasn’t a crisis atmosphere; there were faces around that conference table she’d never even seen before. That was okay. That was why you kept them on retainer: for emergencies. She felt worse about all the lying she’d asked poor Dawn to do in the course of canceling all the appointments originally scheduled for today; probably some of those people hadn’t bought it and were offended now. But family trumped all other considerations. All she dared to want from this day was for her daughter to end it in better shape than she’d started it. It was beyond Cynthia, and probably beyond Adam too, to express or even to feel privately any real disappointment in either of their children. But the hard fact to get used to-the thing that Marietta kept harping on-was that the Morey family existed now on a public plane as well as a private one, and in that light something had to happen to make sure this kind of incident never took place again.

“It’s nice,” Marietta had said to her, “to have done so many favors for people in influential positions, so that they will then do this favor for you. But I’m telling you, you can go back to that well only so many times before people start to feel taken advantage of. And then the dam bursts in terms of curiosity about the Morey family, in terms of the desire to see the high brought low; and then the foundation’s work is hurt, and your name starts to get associated with things other than the good work you and Adam have started to do. People want that bubble popped, believe me. People would love nothing better than for you to turn out to be hypocrites and scumbags instead of the generous, caring family that you are. Far be it from me, as a friend or as someone technically on your payroll, to give you parenting advice. But just as a professional matter, this is something you and Adam need to get out in front of.”

Then a frightened-looking Edina was in the doorway mouthing the words “She’s up,” and a few moments later April walked heavily into the living room, in a t-shirt and Adam’s pajama bottoms, her hair everywhere, her face bloated, her eyes nearly closed. You had to see her looking her worst, Cynthia thought, in order to understand how irreducibly gorgeous she was. Cynthia didn’t stand up. “My head is pounding,” April said hoarsely. “Will you tell whats-herface to get me some Advil?” Cynthia leaned over and typed something onto the laptop on the coffee table in front of her; communication like that was all done wirelessly now. April made her way over to the couch and curled up against the arm farthest from her mother.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Cynthia said politely. “Or eat?”

“Oh my God no,” April mumbled.

Maybe it was selfish of her, but what Cynthia most wanted to hear right now was the same note of pleading, childish belief in her that she’d heard in that first phone call from the shoulder of Route 15, just to reassure her that it hadn’t all been an act, that it wasn’t just a matter of April’s knowing how to play her in order to get what she wanted: Mommy-I’m-scared, Mommy-I-need-your-help. “Dad will be home in a little while,” Cynthia said. “I spent this morning with our lawyers and basically, as it concerns you at least, in legal terms, the whole thing never happened.”

April’s face was hidden behind her hair. “Of course it didn’t,” she said weakly. “Um, is there any word on Dmitri?” Before Cynthia could ask who the hell Dmitri was, April added, “And the guy driving the van?”

Cynthia sighed. “They’re not dead,” she said, which sounded harsh but was all she really knew. “Nobody’s dead.”

“Okay,” April said.

She’d always been precocious, she’d always set herself apart. Sometime in the last couple of years she seemed to have run up against some kind of interior wall and now she spent her days and nights running into that same wall over and over again. Cynthia believed that there had to be a kind of key to the adult April somewhere, and that it was her fault for not having found it. If you were the mother it was always your fault. But it’s not too late, Cynthia told herself. There’s still time. She tried to be calm and unprovocative, but she couldn’t help herself.

“How did we get here?” she said. “I mean, I try to sort of look back and find out where I made the mistake, but I can’t.” And then, frustratingly, she started to cry-like she was the daughter, like she was the one who had been through something and needed to be comforted. “I feel like I’m losing you. How can I keep that from happening?”

“Mom, you are not going to lose me,” April said, not particularly kindly. “Please. Like there’s not enough drama here already.”

“I’m sorry, but you cannot just scare the shit out of me like that and expect me to be cool about it. I do not want that to happen again.”

“I don’t want it to happen again either,” April said.

Edina came in with the Advil and a glass of water on a tray; she placed it on the far edge of the glass-topped table and withdrew.

“That’s what gets me, actually,” April said, in a voice that wasn’t quite as sharp. “I’m pretty sure it will. Happen again. Even though I don’t want it to. I can feel myself forgetting what it feels like to feel this way.” She snorted. “Another few days and I’ll be hanging out with the same people doing the same stupid shit even though I don’t really want to. Why is that? I mean, what am I supposed to do with all my time?”

Cynthia reached out and tried to stroke April’s tangled hair, but April pulled her head away. Her kids’ moods had always had a way of swamping hers and so after ten minutes of sitting at the opposite end of the couch staring at nothing, she found herself feeling just as mad and hopeless as April did, just as stonewalled and estranged, even though in truth, outside the confines of this moment, she had never in her life felt closer to the heart of things than she did right now. She was chair of one of the top ten fastest growing charitable foundations in New York. The foundation, at Adam’s insistence, had her name on it. People brought her antipoverty initiatives of all kinds and her interest made them real, not just at home but overseas, in countries she had never seen. No more intermediaries between her desire for a better world and the world itself; all she had to do was imagine it. But even these triumphs receded like moons into a distant orbit of the fact of her child’s unhappiness. She laid her cheek on the arm of the couch and waited.

Adam found the two of them still in that position, like listing bookends, when he came home half an hour later; their expressions made it appear as if they’d fought more than they actually had. He sat down across from them and took a silent minute to try to focus. It was much harder than it should have been to stop thinking about work. The problem was that everything seemed rooted in work these days. Day and night. Everywhere he went, people begged him to take them on as investors in his hedge fund, which over the four years of its existence had put up numbers that pushed him into shamanistic territory, where people earnestly believed that he was performing a kind of magic. Old friends, total strangers-they treated even finding themselves in the same room with him as the portent of a lifetime, and some of them were the type who prided themselves on not taking no for an answer. They would lose their manners completely. Some of Adam’s junior partners tried to tell him he was insane for not traveling with security just to keep the wannabes at a respectful distance from him, but he really did not want to go that route, especially not at what were nominally social occasions. Now the fund was filing for its own IPO and that meant the news was about to break that one of its nonvoting stakeholders was the Chinese government. There was nothing wrong or underhanded about it; still, when it came to money, there was a certain threshold of size past which outsiders just reacted irrationally. But that particular freakout was still a few weeks away. He and Cyn had spoken at least ten times that day already, so there was nothing on which he needed to be brought up to date. They had a plan and now just needed to draw from each other the resolve to go through with it. He waited for April to meet his eyes.