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Susan sipped her soda, and ice rattled in the tumbler. "I don't agree with the FBI, and if I tell you what I think, it'll sound crazy."
    "No, it won't, and honestly, I don't even know if this will run. It depends on my editor."
    Susan frowned. "Any press at all could help find them. You never know."
    "I'll try my best. Please, go on."
    Susan shifted forward on the cushion. "I believe my kids are in the country, nearby even. Maybe not in Philly, but in Jersey or Delaware. Near here. I think it because I feel them, inside. I feel my children, close to me." Certainty strengthened Susan's voice. "When they were babies, if someone took them out of my sight, I felt nervous. When we were in the same room, I knew it. I feel them here, still." Susan put a hand to her heart. "I carried them, they were inside me. I think it's a mother's instinct."
    Ellen reddened. Was there such a thing? Could she have it if she had never been pregnant? Evidently, not everything came with the ovaries.
    "I've posted their photos everywhere. I had somebody design a website and made sure it comes up first if they ever search their own name. I go on the Internet all the time, checking out all the sites where they might go, even the gamers' sites, because Sammy loved Nintendo."
    Ellen watched Susan, who slumped in the soft couch as she continued.
    "I drive around the neighborhoods, the schools. I check out the Gymboree for Lynnie and the T-ball leagues for Sammy. In summer, I troll the beaches in Holgate and Rehoboth. Sooner or later, I'll spot one of them, I just know it." Susan needed no encouragement to keep speaking, her words flowing from a pain, deep inside. "There's not a minivan that goes by that I don't look in the backseat, not a ball field I don't look on the bench and the bases. I stop by pet stores because
    Lynnie liked kittens. If a school bus passes, I look in the windows. I drive around and call the kids' names at night. Last week I was in Caldwell, in New Jersey, calling them, and a woman asked me what kind of dog Lynnie was."
    Susan stopped talking abruptly, and a sudden silence fell.
    And Ellen understood firsthand that after the loss of a child, a mother would be haunted for the rest of her life.

Chapter Eleven
    Back in her car, Ellen stopped at a traffic light, dwelling. She'd had a glimpse of Susan Sulaman's world, and it made her want to drive home and hug W. Her BlackBerry rang in her purse, and she rooted in her bag until she found it, then hit the green button.
    "Elly Belly?" said the familiar voice.
    "Dad. How are you?"
    "Fine."
    "What's the matter?" Ellen could tell he was upset by the way he said he was fine.
    "Nothing. I'm about to have lunch. You free? I just got back from the doctor's."
    "Are you sick?"
    "Nah."
    "Then why'd you go to the doctor?"
    "A checkup, is all."
    "You had a checkup in September, didn't you?" Ellen remembered because it was near her birthday.
    "This was just a thing, a routine thing."
    Ellen glanced at the car's clock, then did a quick calculation. Her father lived in West Chester, forty-five minutes from the city. Being closer to her parents was the reason she had come here from the San Jose Mercury. "Are you home today?"
    "Yeah, doing email and expenses."
    "Why don't I drop by? I'm actually in Ardmore."
    "Great. The door's open. Love you."
    "Love you, too." Ellen hung up, then slid the phone back in her purse. She cruised to the corner in light traffic, turned around, and headed back down Lancaster Avenue. She felt a pang of guilt, realizing she hadn't been to visit her father in almost a month. She just hadn't had the time, between work and W. Every week, she mentally shifted the hours of her days, as if her life were a handheld puzzle with tiles that slid around to make a picture. The tiles fit differently every week, and no matter how hard she tried, the picture didn't come together. The lines connected to nothing.
    She accelerated.

Chapter Twelve
    "Hi, Dad." Ellen entered her father's kitchen,