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on him would be rude, maybe even cruel. Still, I wanted to discourage his behavior.
    “Charlie, don’t worry about us,” I assured him. “Really. We’re fine.” Then, without giving him a chance to reply, I went inside and shut the door. Molly’s jacket and bookbag had landed in the hall.
    Angela’s voice floated down the stairs. “Yo, Zoe—that you? We’re upstairs.”
    “I’m getting in my gym stuff, Mom.”
    “Great. We’ve got about ten minutes,” I called.
    unbuttoning my coat, I went to the window. Victor’s shades hung at an odd, twisted angle. Construction trucks blocked my view of Santa. Charlie, having gotten up off my front steps, hobbled back to his side of the street on crooked, unsteady legs.

SEVEN
    T HURSDAY NIGHT . MOLLY’S GYMNASTICS CLASS . MOST EVENINGS Molly and I stayed home, unwinding after busy days. usually, she’d work on art projects, each of which seemed to require thousands of beads, miles of string, tons of buttons, carloads of markers. Oh—and glue. Gallons of glue. Oceans of it. While she created, I generally got organized. paid bills. prepared paperwork. pretended to clean the house. Thursdays were different. Thursday was our one evening a week of structured out-of-the-house activity. First we went to class, then Molly, Emily, Susan, and I went out to eat.
    During class, while kids worked on balance beams and trampolines, their mothers visited in the observation room. Even now I didn’t know all the women’s names, but I knew which kid each belonged to, and I’m sure I was simply Molly’s mom to most of them. We were, to the outside eye, despite our varying ages and body types, indistinguishable, almost interchangeable. A mass of chipped manicures and imperfect hair. A throng, a gaggle of moms, all chattering. Davinder, who had a doctorate in chemical engineering, had finally found a foolproof way to get little Hari to eat vegetables. Karen, an ICU nurse, had found a bargain on pajamas for Nicholas. Gretchen, an amateur tennis champ, couldn’t comprehend how fast her Hannah had outgrown her shoes.To me, the chitchat was soothing, almost musical. Connecting with other women reassured me. It made me confident that divorce hadn’t made me less capable or adoption less maternal than other women. Given the events of the week, that night I especially craved the comfort of normal conversation, the gentle company of women.
    Molly and I walked to the Community Center in the fading light. Only five o’clock but already dark. As soon as we got there, Molly peeled off her coat, shoes, and socks, everything but her leotard and leggings, eager to get started.
    “Wait till you see me on the unevens.”
    “I can’t wait.”
    “You never watch me. You’re always talking.” “I watch you and talk at the same time.” “No, you don’t. I see you through the window. You talk to Susan or Billy’s mom or the other ladies. You don’t watch.” “I’ll watch this time.” She looked doubtful. “Promise.” “I promise.”
    “I’ll know if you’re lying, Mom. I’ll look to see.” “Fine. Look. You’ll see me watching.”
    Her face was still skeptical as she tossed me her socks and ran into the gym to begin the warm-up. Two seconds later, she was back. “Mom, what if my tooth comes out in class?”
    “I don’t think it will. But if it does, we’ll wrap it up and take it home in a tissue.”
    She frowned. “But what if it falls in the pit? What if I lose it?” Her eyes filled with terror at the thought.
    “Mollybear,” I said, “don’t worry. The Tooth Fairy will accept a note from your mother.”
    “Are you sure?” Again, that doubtful look.
    “Positive.”
    “There is no Tooth Fairy, is there? She’s fake like Santa Claus.”
    “Who said Santa Claus is fake?”
    “Everyone knows that. He’s just make-believe. It’s really the parents.”
    I sighed. Was this the time and place for this discussion? “Molly, hurry. They’re in there warming up. You’ll