No, was Barbara’s answer each time. No, Cole. Of course not. All the while she prayed she’d keep it together. And she did, but barely. It wasn’t easy to sit by and watch your child lose his mind.

“I can make space for him tomorrow morning,” Dr. Kellerman said when Barbara had finished recounting their terrifying evening. He sounded so irritatingly matter-of-fact. “We may need to consider medication to stabilize him.”

“Medication?” Barbara snapped. “Wait, so things aren’t bad enough to see him right away, but they are bad enough to drug him?”

“That’s one possibility, Mrs. Carlson, and only on a temporary basis. But it is important we keep an open mind.” We, as though Cole were his child. As though they were really in this together. “Bring Cole by at ten a.m., Mrs. Carlson, and we can discuss all our options. In the meantime, try to stay calm.”

“Stay calm? And what if we can’t wait that long? He’s not okay now, Doctor.”

“At this hour, our only option would be the hospital, and I don’t think that’s where Cole belongs, under the circumstances. Where is he now, Mrs. Carlson?”

“He’s asleep at this exact moment, but—”

“Then at this exact moment, the issue is really your anxiety, isn’t it? It’s completely understandable. This is an extremely stressful situation. Nonetheless, you’ll need to find a way to manage your anxiety for Cole’s sake. If you’d like, I can give you the name of someone to see on your own.”

“On my own?” Barbara asked. “The only problem I have right now is Cole. I don’t mean that—Cole is not a problem. His problems are my problem, that’s what I meant.”

“Yes,” Dr. Kellerman said, but not like he agreed. And then he was quiet for a long time in a way that Barbara didn’t want him to be.

“Fine,” she said, because she needed to get off the phone before she said something she would regret. “But I’m going to call you back if anything changes. Otherwise, we’ll see you tomorrow at ten a.m.”

“Absolutely call again if Cole’s situation deteriorates. In the meantime, try to get some rest, Mrs. Carlson. It may take some time and hard work to get through this, but Cole will be fine. Children are extraordinarily resilient.”

Barbara tried to go to bed after she got off the phone; 9:42 p.m. and still no sign of Steve, and it was making her angrier and angrier with each passing minute. Did he really need to answer every last stupid question? Or was he not even at the meeting anymore? Was he somewhere else entirely? His only excuse would be that he hadn’t gotten her messages.

When Barbara got upstairs, she saw Hannah’s light glowing in a thin strip beneath her door. Barbara thought about going in, telling Hannah to get to bed. But as soon as her hand was on the doorknob, it felt like a terrible idea. What if Hannah got worked up about Cole again? It would end badly between them, very badly. Barbara was sure of it.

And so she walked on, past Hannah’s room, heading to her own bedroom, hoping not to open her eyes again until morning, when Steve would be there and it wouldn’t be long before they could see Dr. Kellerman.

When she got into her room, she found her night table drawer a little ajar. It was where she’d tucked Cole’s drawing. She hadn’t let Dr. Kellerman keep it—especially when, at the time, she hadn’t planned for them to ever go back. But she couldn’t bring herself to throw it out, as Steve had suggested. Instead, she’d slid it in the drawer where she kept all her important papers. Had Cole been in her room? Had Hannah been snooping around? Barbara hoped not, but her daughter could be so maddeningly insistent. After the afternoon they’d had, maybe Hannah had been intent on finding out everything there was to know about Cole. Then again, maybe Barbara had left the drawer open herself. She couldn’t recall, but she had looked at the picture more than once since hiding it there.

It took Barbara forever to get herself to sleep, and when she had just started to doze off, she was startled awake by a noise. When she snapped her eyes open, there was Cole, looming in the darkness right next to her face.

“There are bad things in my brain,” he breathed. “Get them out, Mommy. Please.”

He had a bad dream, that’s all, Barbara told herself. And bad dreams were okay. They were normal kid stuff.

“It’s okay, honey.” Barbara pulled him into bed and curled her body around his. “Come here to me.”

“But I’m still scared, Mommy,” Cole whispered, sounding worried that the confession might get him in trouble. “I keep having the same bad dream.”

“Oh, Cole, you’re not even asleep yet,” she said. “You can’t be having a dream.”

“But I just did, Mommy,” he whispered. “And it was so, so bad.”

What to say to that? To a little boy’s bad dream that goes on long after he’s opened his eyes? There was nothing to say. And so she rubbed Cole’s back, and eventually, he fell asleep. Around the same time, Barbara became convinced she might never sleep again.

She managed to slip out of the bed without waking Cole. In the hallway, she could see that Hannah’s light was still on. She was still not asleep. And Barbara still could not bring herself to go in and comfort her daughter. She simply had nothing left to give. And maybe that made Barbara a terrible mother and a bad person, but it was the truth. She could only do what she could do. Dr. Kellerman had been right: She needed to focus on keeping herself—and Cole—calm.

Downstairs, Barbara checked the clock on the wall again: 10:23 p.m. Steve was not at that meeting anymore, that was for sure. “Dammit, Steve,” she said quietly as she looked out the living room windows toward the dark driveway. Where was he?

Soon, Barbara would have to call the station. She didn’t like to do that. The chief of police’s wife having to track him down? It didn’t reflect well on either one of them. But what choice did she have? Before she could dial the number, there was a buzz from the opposite side of the room. Hannah’s iPhone vibrating on the side table. Hannah wasn’t one of those teenagers who was attached to her phone, but it was odd that she’d left it downstairs. When Barbara picked it up, the text came through a second time: I’m sorry. I should have said that before. For everything.

The text was from Sandy, the girl Hannah had tutored. What was Sandy sorry for? Missing her tutoring? Barbara felt a queasy tug in her gut. For everything. No, missing the tutoring wasn’t it.

Barbara typed in Hannah’s password—her knowing it was a condition of Hannah having a phone—then opened the text messages between her and Sandy, scrolling up to those that had preceded the new one. Barbara recognized many of the back-and-forths between the girls; from the beginning, she’d monitored them regularly. She had her concerns, of course, about Hannah socializing with the kind of teenagers served by Outreach Tutoring, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit it. But the girls’ exchanges had been so routinely uninteresting, about scheduling their tutoring or where to meet or the assignments. It had been obvious they weren’t real friends. Not like Hannah’s other friends, who—let’s be honest—came with their own Corona-swilling problems.

Are you okay? Hannah had written to Sandy about a week earlier.

Yeah. Was Sandy’s whole response.

Are you sure? Hannah had pressed. You should go to a doctor. That was really bad.

A doctor?

To check you out. Make sure you’re okay.

I AM okay.

Barbara’s heart had started to pound. What was really bad? More exchanges followed, all essentially the same. Hannah asking if Sandy was okay. Sandy assuring her that she was. Hannah asking again. Over and over and over. Hannah was obviously worried about Sandy. But why? Barbara checked the dates of these very different texts. They had started nearly two weeks earlier. Right about the time the baby had probably been . . .