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Kennedy, Jr. had with it.”
    Todd felt the twinge of sympathy he never failed to experience when people mentioned JFK, Jr. in an attempt to make him feel better, as they almost always did. It was bad enough that the poor guy had to lose his father and die in a tragic plane crash; did he have to go down in history as the patron saint of failed bar exams as well?
    “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just whenever I think about it I’m filled with this unbelievable feeling of dread. It’s like one of those bad dreams, where you suddenly realize that you forgot to go to math class all semester, and now it’s time for the final.”
    “Maybe you just don’t want to be a lawyer.”
    He seemed momentarily startled by this suggestion. “Well, maybe I’ll get my wish. Kathy and I agreed that I’m going to take the test one more time. If I mess up, I’m going to have to find something else to do with my life.”
    He seemed so matter-of-fact while delivering this confession, not at all embarrassed by the fact of his failure. Most men weren’t like that—Richard certainly wasn’t. She wondered if Todd was always this forthcoming, or if he found her for some reason to be an unusually sympathetic listener. Either way, there was nothing the least bit intimidating about him. If anything, he seemed a little lonely, all too ready to open his heart at the slightest sign of interest, like a lot of the young mothers she knew.
    “I couldn’t help noticing your stroller,” she told him. “Do you have another child?”
    “Just Aaron. We got that at a yard sale. The extra seat comes in handy for carrying groceries and stuff. At least it used to, before Big Bear started joining us.”
    “Lucy won’t even go in a stroller. We have to walk everywhere. It takes us half an hour to go three blocks.”
    They pushed their children and continued chatting for another fifteen minutes or so, until Todd glanced at his watch and discovered to his surprise that it was already past noon. Unlike Sarah, he had apparently developed an effective system for bringing swing time to a close. After issuing a five-minute warning, he loudly announced the passage of each successive minute, until the time came for the final ten pushes, which he and Aaron counted out together in enthusiastic voices. Then he left his son to swing slowly to a standstill while he removed Big Bear from the swing and returned him to the stroller. It was only then, while watching him kneel down to affix the safety belt around the bear’s shapeless midsection, that Sarah found herself gripped by an unexpected pang of sadness.
    Don’t go , she thought. Don’t leave me here with the others.
    As if he’d heard her, Todd straightened up and gave her a curious smile, as if he were about to ask a personal question.
    “Well,” he said. “It was nice talking to you.”
    “Same here.”
    She watched in silence as he cupped Aaron by the armpits and attempted to lift him out of the swing. The boy’s foot got caught in one of the apertures, and Sarah hurried over to free it before Todd even had a chance to ask for assistance.
    “Thanks,” he said.
    “No problem. Happens to us all the time. Sometimes I think Lucy does it on purpose.”
    As Todd buckled Aaron into the stroller, Sarah found herself gazing at Big Bear, whose face was frozen in a look of wild alarm, as if he were witnessing something horrible but did not know how to cry for help. Todd stood up and shrugged, as if to say that was that. Sarah spoke without thinking.
    “You know those women over there?” She gestured as discreetly as she could at the picnic table posse. “You know what they call you?”
    “What?” Todd seemed intrigued.
    “The Prom King.”
    “Ouch.” He winced, as if this were a humiliating insult. “That’s awful.”
    “They mean it as a compliment. You’re a big character in their fantasy lives.”
    “I guess,” he said dubiously. “I mean, you could easily come up with something