“I REVIEWED LOGAN’S notes,” John said. “Didn’t seem like you tried all that hard at the hearing today.” His voice was calm but cold. He didn’t take a seat, instead standing before her desk with hands on hips.

Gwen had no patience for him. She rose and picked up the stack of files Logan had replaced on her desk, then offered them to her boss. “You want to take over the Kingston case? Be my guest.”

John’s eyes went slightly wider as she all but shoved the files into his hands. She was so insistent he finally took them from her, then immediately put them back down. “You bring impartiality to the case and—”

She cut him off. “But you’d rather I just show an appearance of impartiality, is that it, John? You don’t want me to actually be impartial. Is that how you’re running things these days? You tell me what to do and I perform like a marionette?” She glared at him. But then it registered that she’d shocked him.

Had she gone too far? She felt deeply that she hadn’t gone anywhere near far enough. But this man was her boss. And while government work was usually very secure, he could fire her for no reason at all.

In frustration—and maybe to hide her anger—she retreated to the window and looked out, giving the chief her back, allowing herself a moment to collect herself. She rubbed her temples where a headache was taking root. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”

“Rough day?” he asked. It was the kindest thing she’d ever heard him say.

She turned to him again. “Actually, it’s been a rough week. But I’ve managed worse.” She went back to her desk chair and sat down heavily. “We could all use some serious vacation time.”

Placated, he nodded his agreement. “You know you’re a valued member of my team, right? Not a marionette.”

She forced a smile. “You know I’d just tangle all the strings if you tried to make me into one.”

“That’s for sure,” he agreed. “Just try not to let that weasel Zimmerman undo the hard work this office went through to put Kingston in prison. Okay?”

“I will do my best,” she promised. The office phone saved her from listening to John speak any more uncharacteristic kindnesses, which made her feel worse instead of better. She gave him an inquiring look and he indicated she could answer because he was leaving.

She waited until he’d gone before she picked up. The receptionist said it was Melody Michaels on the phone. The bottom seemed to drop out of Gwen’s stomach. Why would her custody lawyer be calling her?

“Gwen Haverty speaking,” she said after she’d switched to the proper line.

“Hi, Gwen. Sorry to bother you at work. But I thought you’d want to know right away. Your instincts were right. Clayton filed the petition for full custody today.”

AARON WENT HOME EARLY, for once. He’d prepped for the following day and taken home some files to review from the comfort of his bed later on. Before that, he wanted to spend a little time with his son. There were days when he felt he’d hardly seen Benjamin for weeks. Today the weather was nice outside. Not too hot. Maybe the two of them could go throw some balls at the park near the lake.

As soon as he walked through the door, he was struck by a heavenly mixture of aromas both savory and sweet. Phyllis was a great cook. He headed back toward the kitchen to see what she’d started for dinner.

“I’m home,” he called out, not wanting to startle anyone. He heard the thudding of Ben’s feet racing from the family room to greet him. That brought joy into Aaron’s heart. Even when Ben crashed into him and drew an involuntary “ooph,” Aaron grinned. Until he realized Ben was clinging to him.

“What’s up, buddy?” Aaron asked his son.

“Nothing.” But his voice lacked its usual enthusiasm. “This is just one of those days, you know?”

Aaron thought about that a moment. “School okay?”

“Yeah,” But he continued to cling.

“That’s good,” Aaron said, not sure what could have made this day “one of those” for his nine-year-old. Then Ben let go and led the way to the kitchen, where Phyllis could be heard puttering with cookware.

“Something smells really good,” he said to her.

She turned and looked at him and he could see her eyes were red-rimmed. She’d been crying. “You know I always make her favorite on this day.”

Aaron went very still. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. Inside, a hot mixture of dread and sorrow and guilt swirled around, knotting his stomach. The world tilted for a moment. He’d forgotten.

Not once through the whole day had it crossed his mind that today would have been Beth’s birthday—her thirty-fifth. His wife, his beautiful, loving wife had been gone only three years, and he’d forgotten her birthday.

“You forgot,” Phyllis said without recrimination. “That’s okay. It’s hard for men to remember these things. And it’s been three years now.” But her voice broke on the last two words and she turned away, sniffing. The meatballs and sauce would be seasoned with tears, as they were every year.

Ben stood nearby, staring at him wide-eyed. He didn’t seem upset, but he watched closely, waiting to see what would happen next.

Aaron had no words. But breathing returned to him, as nature dictated. And with the resumption of lung activity came a surprising flash of rebellion. It had been three years. He’d mourned his beloved for three years. Wasn’t it time to let go and move on? Didn’t he deserve to get on with living instead of just pacing through time?

But on the heels of those unexpected thoughts came a surprising burn to his eyes. He thought he’d run out of tears. Thought his grief was abating. But here it was again, as if she’d died only yesterday. And yet…

He glanced at his son. Ben was waiting to see what his father would do or say. Ben deserved a life that didn’t revolve around his dead mother, didn’t he?

“Your mom would have been all over those meatballs by now.” He forced a smile. “She would have been sneaking tastes, not caring that they were too hot. I can see her dancing on her tiptoes, waving her hand across her mouth as if that would cool things down faster. She would laugh at herself, but she’d do it again in an hour. She loved your grandmother’s meatballs and sauce.”

A light seemed to seep into Ben’s eyes and he smiled, first hesitantly, then more fully. “Why didn’t she just wait for dinner?”

Aaron was suffused with a need to celebrate who Beth had been and to share that with the son she’d blessed him with. This time, his smile was genuine. “Because the smell of them cooking was too much for her. Or so she said.”

“Because she liked to drive me crazy,” Phyllis added with her back still to them. She kept on stirring the sauce, but her voice was not as tremulous. “She just couldn’t wait. Your mother always knew what she wanted and went after it. You’re a lot like her, Ben.”

“I am?”

Ben hadn’t asked many questions about his mother. Perhaps he’d sensed that it would cause his father and grandmother pain. Aaron hadn’t thought to give him stories about Beth. Until today.

“You are,” Aaron confirmed. “Isn’t that your favorite cake I smell baking in the oven? You have the same eye color, the same spirit of adventure.” He found himself speaking past a lump in his throat, but he smiled to let Ben know this subject was not forbidden. At least not from now on. Why had it been taboo these past years? Aaron didn’t know.

“You’re smart like she was, too. You’re so curious all the time, just like your mom.” He ruffled Ben’s hair. “Maybe someday soon, we can get out the old photographs and I can tell you more.”

“That’d be cool,” Ben said.

“Right now, help your grandmother set the table for this great meal she’s made for us in honor of your mom’s birthday.” He looked over at his mother-in-law and saw the wistful expression in her eyes. But she wasn’t weeping anymore and that was a good sign.

Aaron left the kitchen and headed up to his bedroom to change out of his work clothes. As he climbed the steps, the weight of guilt descended back onto his shoulders. How could he have forgotten the significance of this day? Beth’s birthday, of all days?

The question he knew he would have to wrestle with now was whether to forgive himself and begin to move on with his life, or continue to live in grief and regret and guilt? The choice seemed obvious. He even knew a particular woman he’d like to date. Then why was it so damn difficult to make himself let go of the memory of Beth and allow himself to get to know the living, breathing Gwen Haverty?

WITH THE NEWS OF CLAYTON’S petition for custody weighing on her, Gwen left work earlier than usual. She let Misha go home and then went in search of Joshua, who had not come running to greet her as he used to when he was small. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened and she mourned those days when her relationship with her son had been simpler. The fact that he no longer so much as acknowledged her arrival made her worry that Clayton would, or perhaps already had, put ideas into Josh’s head about how much better things would be living with Dad. Thoughts of losing her son were like shards of glass cutting through her. She couldn’t bear it.

She found him in his bedroom, earbuds plugged in, eyes glued to his TV, game controller clutched in his hands, thumbs actively working the buttons. He didn’t even look up at her when she made her way into his room.

“Hi, Josh,” she said.

He glanced ever so briefly in her direction, but instantly returned his concentration to his game.

“I have a surprise for you.”

He grunted something that sounded like What? but his thumbs never paused in their frenetic movement.

“I’ll wait until you’re finished with your game,” she said. The last thing she wanted right now was to end up in a fight with him about spending so much time gaming. Normally, she’d have made him turn the thing off as soon as she walked in the house, but not tonight. Feeling drained and yet also electrified by worry, she headed out of his room.

At the threshold, she turned back and caught his gaze upon her and his fingers still. But the meaning of his intense focus was indecipherable. He shifted his eyes back to the screen so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined the moment.

“I’m making dinner tonight. Mac and cheese, mini-franks, corn and peas in butter sauce.” This was his favorite meal and she hoped it would help to win a smile from him. He only spared her a slight nod. “I’ll call when it’s ready,” she said.

Feeling frustrated and confused and scared, she went to her bedroom and changed out of her suit into her pajamas, even though it was early still. Daylight streamed through her bedroom window, an unusual sight for her on a weekday. She rarely came home before dark. She’d dash around the kitchen still in her suit, putting some semblance of a meal together. She’d eat with Josh, usually in silence, then retreat to her bedroom. She owned a pair of jeans, but wasn’t sure where they were. She lived in her suits.

Shoving her feet into slippers, she noticed how soft and cuddly they felt. How long had it been since she’d last put them on? She couldn’t remember, which seemed very, very wrong. She should come home at this hour more often, spend more time with her son, put on her jeans or maybe even a sweat suit and relax.

Another thought struck her. Would it reflect badly on her in court that she worked so many hours, or would a judge see her as a good provider?

Staring at her slippers, she felt the sting of tears, then saw one fall onto the fuzzy fabric. Without conscious thought, she slid slowly down the doorjamb where she’d been leaning, until she ended up sitting on the floor of her closet, wrapped in a fog of misery.

Stop crying, she told herself. If Josh saw her like this, he’d be upset. She didn’t think he’d ever seen her cry. She’d always been strong for him. Even when she’d found the hotel receipt in Clayton’s pocket when he’d said he was at work. Even when she’d discovered he’d had more than one affair. Even when his latest cheat had found the audacity to call him at home. She’d been strong. She hadn’t shed a tear. At least not in front of Josh.

But the tears came now.

Pull yourself together. Get up and go make the dinner you promised your son. But she sat there and remembered all the times Clay had persuaded her she was imagining things, all the lies he’d told so convincingly that she’d begun to question what she’d seen and heard. Then there were Clay’s pleas for mercy, his tears, his promises to reform. He loved her, he’d said. He loved Joshua. He wanted to be a family. Sometimes she believed him. Even now, he could still be kind to her. He’d changed his mind about taking Josh to New York. She wanted to believe he had some evil motivation, but she knew her ex may have simply decided to be decent. And yet, for Gwen, Clayton remained the monster. His manipulations of her, his anger and his unfaithfulness had stolen so much of who she’d once been. How had she let that happen? Then a door seemed to unlock inside her brain and she could see him standing in front of her, anger etching his face and his fist raised above her, ready to come crashing down upon her.

Abruptly, she shut that memory off and covered her face with her hands. “Stop,” she said aloud. “Enough.” And she rubbed her eyes as if she could physically push the tears back to where they’d come from.

“I thought you were making dinner?” Josh said from the hallway as he looked into her room and across to where she sat in her closet doorway.

His chilly, self-centered comment prodded her out of inertia, but she didn’t immediately rise. “I’m not having a very good day,” she said.

“Why not?” This time he sounded a little warmer, as if it might be possible he held a shred of caring in his cold little ten-year-old heart.

The debate inside her head seemed to go on for an eternity, but only seconds passed. In the end, she decided to tell her son the truth. While she hated to worry him, he’d find out eventually.

“Because your father filed papers in court to try to get sole custody of you. And I don’t want that.” Her voice broke on the last word, but she kept herself from openly weeping in front of him.

He looked at her steadily without any expression. Then he said, “That would suck worse than living here.”

Despite everything, Gwen cracked up. She laughed even harder as she repeated his matter-of-fact words between gasps for air. After a while, she saw Josh was laughing, too, though he clearly wasn’t sure what could be so funny. “Suck…worse…than here,” Gwen said again, and she had to hold her stomach as she tried to stop laughing.

Working to regain control of herself, she motioned for Josh to come over. When he got within reach, she grabbed his shirt and pulled him to her. He resisted, so she tickled his ribs and wrestled him to the floor. The raucous laughter started all over again. But after a while, she just hugged him as their silliness ebbed. And her son hugged her back.

“I’m sorry living here with me has sucked for you, Josh. I promise I’ll try to make things better.”

“You’ve said that before,” he noted without emotion, but his small arms squeezed a little tighter around her shoulders, making Gwen recall how close they’d been when her son was younger.

When had things changed? When had they begun to drift apart? Certainly before Clayton had moved out.

She’d mistakenly let Clay stay too long in their lives because she wanted Josh to have a father. But then Josh had grown to be so much like his father—insensitive, often selfish. Why couldn’t her boy have grown up with a man more like Aaron—kind and sensitive? She set aside that disturbing thought and responded to Josh.

“That’s true,” she admitted. “I’ve said that before.” She eased her grasp on him and he shifted back so she could look into his eyes. “I guess I’ll just have to try making things better with actions instead of words. For one thing, I’m taking you to see the Blue Man Group, after all.”

“How is that going to happen?” he asked.

“Your dad changed his mind about taking you to New York, and even though I’d given our tickets away, a friend got me two more. That was the surprise I had for you tonight.”

“Well, that’s a good start at making things suck less.” His small grin warmed her heart.

“Sometimes making things suck less is a two-person job. Will you help?”

He sobered, looking skeptical. “How?”

“Let’s start with you helping me make dinner tonight.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s always about me not getting to play my games.”

“Tonight, it’s just about getting dinner on the table at a decent hour, okay?” She got to her feet and so did he. She looked down at her son. When had he grown so tall? “I love you, Josh.” She resisted the urge to touch him, sensing he was feeling confused and wouldn’t welcome it.

He shrugged. “Am I going to end up living with Dad?” he asked. He tried hard to keep his voice even, as if he didn’t care. But she could hear the edge in his voice.

“You said that would be worse than living here, right?”

He looked up at her and there was anger in his youthful eyes. “When does it ever matter what I want? No one ever asks me what I want.”

“I’m asking you now,” she said softly.

Another shrug. Oh, how it strained her nerves to see that frequent gesture.

“Well, I’ll go with ‘it would suck worse’ until you tell me otherwise. Right now, I’m starving and I’m going to go cook. If you want to help, that would be great. If not, well, I’ll be a little sad about that, but I’ll get over it after a while.” With that, Gwen made herself walk away.

She padded in her seldom-worn slippers down the stairs and into the kitchen, while her longing for her son’s love stretched like a rubber band until it seemed it would have to snap.

But as she pulled pans out from cupboards, she realized she wasn’t alone in the room. Her heart turned over as she glimpsed Joshua lurking on the threshold of the kitchen. He was watching her. Should she invite him in? Give him a job? Tell him what to do?

Or was this one of those moments when she had to quash her motherly instincts and let her son find his own way?

“I already told you. Living with Dad would suck worse than here.”

“Okay. That’s good to know.” She continued to get out ingredients for a slapdash meal. “I’ll do my very best to make sure you stay with me.” But then she knew she had to say something to help her son cope with the conflict his parents were about to step into. “Josh, he’s still your father. You need to spend time with him, do things together. He’s trying, I think, to be a good father to you. He loves you.”

Josh shrugged, but some of the tension seemed to ease out of his shoulders. “We should make double so we have leftovers,” he said as he got out another box of macaroni and cheese.

“Good idea. So I’ll need a bigger pot.”

When he opened a cupboard himself to get it out, Gwen’s heart leaped with disproportionate pleasure. It was the little things, right? This small gesture from Josh just made her want to sing.

“Measuring cup?” she added, wondering if he’d cook the stuff while she focused on the franks.

“I’m on it. I’m not a baby anymore, Mom. I know how to do this.”

“Great! I’ll work on the rest. Do you want peas and carrots or a salad?”

“Peas, please,” he said with a goofy grin.

And the light mood, so different from the rest of her day, went on like that all the way through cooking and eating the meal. Josh actually participated in a conversation, telling her some things about his three-day-a-week summer camp, asking if she’d donated money for the recent earthquake victims. He even remembered that he had some camp papers for her to sign.

“Go ahead and get your backpack and pull out the papers,” she said. “I’ll get these dishes into the dishwasher.”

Next time she looked up, she saw him holding a single bright green sheet of paper in his hands as if reading it for the first time.

“What’s that?” she asked, wanting to know what would hold his rapt attention.

“It’s some stuff about a karate class once school starts. It’s an after-school program, but it’s right there in the gym. It’s just two days a week.” He finished reading and looked off into space for a moment. “Can I go?”

“To the karate class?”

“Yeah. It’d be cool. And better than sitting around here after school with Marsha.”

“Her name is Misha, as you well know.” He’d been calling his babysitter Marsha for months because she looked like Marsha Brady from the Brady Bunch TV show. Gwen cursed cable TV for airing those old shows—as if they hadn’t been silly enough the first time.

Josh dropped the paper onto the table. “I figured you wouldn’t let me go. You can’t pick me up, or something. It’s always something.” He began to walk away, heading out of the kitchen.

“Wait!” she said. “I didn’t say that. Can I have a second to look at the information, please?”

He paused in the doorway and she could see he toggled between hope and his certainty that he would be denied. She read the paper and her eyes went straight to the time of day the karate classes got out. Five o’clock, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Late enough for some parents to be off work, but not late enough for Gwen’s job.

She wished Misha didn’t have such a bad driving record. For a fee, she might have agreed to pick him up from the class, but Gwen couldn’t trust her driving. Too bad Misha was the only sitter flexible enough to accommodate her crazy work schedule. Would she ever be able to find someone who could pick up Josh when she absolutely couldn’t?

Her phone began to dance across the kitchen counter.

“That’s going to be your office. You’ll have to fix some emergency,” Josh said with a frightening lack of emotion. “I’m going back to my game.”

As she watched him go, Gwen admitted feeling relieved. Her son created a veritable tornado of tension inside her sometimes. Better to answer her phone and fix an emergency.

“Gwen Haverty,” she said after she brought the BlackBerry to her ear.

“Hi, Gwen. It’s Aaron.”

She had no idea why he had called her now, but her first thought was that Aaron would save her. He would help her figure out what to do about the karate class so she could let Josh take it. Aaron was her knight in shining armor and he’d make everything okay again. But as these thoughts dashed through her mind, another part of her brain quite sensibly told her to leave Aaron out of her problems, avoid making him into her savior, push him away. Because if she let herself lean on Aaron, she’d probably never stop.

“I have a question for you,” he said when she didn’t respond to his greeting. “And don’t say no until you’ve heard me out.”