8 JOANNA

      “Hey, buddy.” I smile at Josh as I sit across from him at the breakfast table. It’s nine o’clock on Thursday morning, and Josh finally wandered out of his room with a serious case of bedhead and sleep in his eyes. He smiles back at me, uncertainly, because this is new territory. Enforced vacation. At least, that’s how I’m determined to look at it, rather than an unfair punishment for an accident.

      Lewis and I spoke about Ben’s fall last night. I told him what Josh told me, and he nodded grimly. “All right, fine, he pushed him. We already figured that’s what happened. But kids push, Jo. It was an accident.”

      “I know that,” I said. “And I think Burgdorf knows it, too. But I guess they feel they need a scapegoat.” Lewis shook his head in derision. “Maybe they’re afraid of a lawsuit,” I suggested. “Maybe Maddie feels someone at school was negligent.”

      “Maddie’s in the hospital with Ben,” Lewis said. “I don’t think she’s in a place to think about a lawsuit.”

      “Maybe Burgdorf is just covering the bases.” I paused. “I asked Josh about visiting Ben.” Another pause. “He didn’t want to.”

      Lewis shrugged this aside. “Hospitals are scary places, and he has to feel guilty, even though he shouldn’t. Let’s not push him to do anything he’s not comfortable with, Jo.” Lewis smiled, and then pulled me toward him. I went willingly, craving the comfort of his arms around me.

      “Lewis, I’m worried,” I whispered and he tightened his embrace.

      “I know.”

      We left it at that; we always do. But I felt a little better.

      “So waffles for breakfast,” I tell Josh chirpily, cringing at my slightly manic cheerfulness. I know I’m trying too hard, and yet I can’t keep myself from it. I so desperately want to make this okay for my son. “And whipped cream. Your favorite.”

      Josh gives me a halfhearted smile, but at least it’s something. “Thanks, Mom,” he says softly, and I struggle not to cry. This isn’t fair. It’s the cry of a child, the petulant whine of a six-year-old who didn’t get as big a cookie as someone else. I know life isn’t fair. But the injustice of Mrs. James’s treatment of Josh burns with a holy fire; I do not want to accept it. I won’t. But I don’t know how to fight it, either. The last thing I want to do is jeopardize Josh’s place at Burgdorf, or make him feel even more uncomfortable when he returns to school.

      “So I thought we could do something fun today,” I say. I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit across from him. The smile on my face feels too wide, but I can’t keep my reactions in check. I have always overcompensated, even as a child. It never worked, and deep down I knew it never would, but I still kept trying, in my own inept way. I still keep trying now.

      “So where do you think you’d like to go? Anywhere in the city. Sky’s the limit.” I’ve put two waffles on Josh’s plate while I’m talking and topped them with strawberries and whipped cream. I’ve even cut up his waffles into neat, even pieces before I realize what I’m doing. I hand him his knife and fork and sit back. “So? What do you think? Any ideas of where you’d like to go, Josh?”