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smile sweetly at my son.
    â€œUm, okay, Mom. You are all knowing. Greater than science.” He rolls his eyes dramatically. I used to think only my girl would do that.
    He leaps out with a shouted good-bye.
    I pull forward. Now the kids are older, and I need something new to occupy me. Quincy sure won’t need me after next summer.
    I can see the blank years unspooling themselves like a roll of new register tape. Once Chase graduates, I’ve got years before my husband can retire. Years I’ve got to fill. It’s terrifying and exhilarating. Like starting out fresh, as if I’m eighteen.
    Except, yeah, I’m not eighteen. I’m thirty-eight.
    Okay. Like starting out fresh, but WISER. That sounds much better. I’m wise, not old.
    Besides, I’ve got everything I ever wanted. A fantastic, loving husband. Two healthy kids who make me laugh. A house to tinker with. What else do I need? I’ll figure out something. I always do.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    I wave at a clutch of women standing on the lawn ahead of the drop-off zone, where the curb’s red. One of them, Susannah, stands out with her long flowing hair dyed flame-red, like a comic book heroine. She motions at me to roll down my window. “You going to help with the science club bake sale?” she calls.
    I’m usually the one in Susannah’s place, shanghaiing the unsuspecting into service. But this time, with me preoccupied with my mother, the honor’s gone to her instead. I feel instantly guilty. “Sure thing. I can make, um, cupcakes with those gummy earthworms and Oreo cookie crumbs that look like dirt.”
    â€œFan-tastic.” Susannah hops over to the driver’s side and leans in through the window, so close I can smell traces of the cinnamon oatmeal she had for breakfast. I’ve known Susannah for fifteen years, since our older two were in kindergarten. Quincy and Sam. We always said their names sounded like a detective show. Now Sam, her son, is away at Berkeley. The last time I saw him with her, I didn’t know who he was. Susannah looks the same as she did fifteen years ago, but her son’s a man. In my memory he’s still about three feet tall. It’s like there was a blip in the space-time continuum.
    We clasp hands briefly, my left in her left. “Your mom okay?”
    I hesitate. I can’t get into details right here and now, in the carpool line. And even if I had the time, I’m reluctant to share all the gritty details of my family’s feud.
    This morning, our family attorney, Laura, forwarded a cryptic note from my father, the latest in a year-plus battle to gain power of attorney from me. The battle that could actually go on forever, because my father’s sure not going to run out of money.
If Rachel truly has her mother’s best interests at heart, she will do as I say. There are things Rachel doesn’t know about her mother. Ask Rachel if she’d rather keep Hikari safe, or if she’d rather keep the power of attorney.
    â€œDo you have any idea what this means?” Laura had asked. “If you did, we could be prepared. But if he drops a bombshell during the hearing . . .” she trailed off. “I told his attorney we need more info, and he said he’d ask Killian at their meeting this afternoon.”
    I knew what Laura meant. We’d lose. “I have no idea,” I’d said, my stomach dropping. Of course there’s a secret. Everything our parents do revolves around secrets. Keeping things hidden. Unspoken. It could just as well be an empty threat.
    When my mother first got diagnosed, when her doctor said she was still able to understand the consequences, Mom gave me instead of Killian power of attorney, enabling me to make decisions about her care and well-being.
    In truth, I wanted to say no. Just the thought of how my father would react, his cold eyes boring into me, made my stomach turn.