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history projects.”
    â€œYeah, right. Working on a nickel bag, more like it. Which friend?”
    â€œI think Ziegler? Um, listen—Nick? I’m kind of nervous being alone in the house—after today, I mean.”
    â€œI can’t blame you. You lock the doors and windows, right?”
    â€œI did, but this crazy person…”
    â€œI know. I’m going to have a new system put in rightaway so you can put on the alarm while you’re inside.” Stratton’s corporate security director had told Nick he’d drop by later, see what he could do. Anything for the boss. They’d gone too long with a rudimentary security system; it was time to put in something state-of-the-art, with cameras and motion detectors and all that. “You can go to sleep if you want.”
    â€œI want to see the rest of this movie.”
    â€œSure.”
    Nick went upstairs and down the hall to Julia’s bedroom, quietly opening the door and making his way through the darkness by memory. Enough moonlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains that, once his eyes adjusted, he could make out his daughter’s sleeping body. Julia slept under, and with, an assortment of favorite blankets, each of which she’d given names to, as well as a rotating selection of stuffed animals and Beanie Babies from her vast menagerie. Tonight she was clutching Winnie the Pooh, who’d been given to her when she was a few days old, now frayed and matted and stained.
    Her choice of sleeping partner was a pretty reliable indicator of her mental state: Elmo when she was feeling sprightly; Curious George when she was feeling mischievous; her little Beanie Baby koala, Eucalyptus, when she wanted to nurture someone needier than herself. But Pooh always meant she was feeling especially fragile and in need of the ultimate comfort of her longest-serving pal. For several months after her mommy’s death, she slept with Pooh every night. Recently, she’d traded in Pooh for some of the other guys, which was a sign that she was starting to feel a little stronger.
    Tonight, though, Pooh was back in her bed.
    He touched her sweaty curls, breathed in the sweet baby-shampoo aroma mixed with the slightly sour smell of perspiration, and kissed her damp forehead. She murmured but did not stir.
    A door opened and closed somewhere in the house, followed immediately by the thud of something being droppedto the floor. Nick was instantly alert. Heavy, bounding footsteps on the carpeted stairs told him it was Lucas.
    Nick navigated a path through the minefield of books and toys and closed the door quietly behind him. The long hall was dark, but a stripe of yellow light glared through the crack under Lucas’s bedroom door.
    Nick knocked, waited, then knocked again.
    â€œYeah?”
    The depth and timbre of his son’s voice always startled him. That and the surly edge to it, in the last year. Nick opened the door and found Lucas lying back on his bed, boots still on, iPod earbuds in his ears.
    â€œWhere’ve you been?” Nick asked.
    Lucas glanced at him, then found something in the middle distance that was more interesting. “Where’s Barney?”
    Nick paused. “I asked you where you’ve been, Luke. It’s a school night.”
    â€œZiggy’s.”
    â€œYou didn’t ask me if you could go over there.”
    â€œYou weren’t around to ask.”
    â€œIf you want to go over to a friend’s house, you’ve got to clear it in advance with me or Marta.”
    Lucas shrugged in tacit acknowledgment. His eyes were red and glassy, and now Nick was fairly certain he’d been getting high. This was an alarming new development, but he hadn’t yet confronted his son about it. He’d been putting it off simply because it was one more mountain to climb, a showdown that would require unwavering strength he didn’t have. There was so much going on at work, and there was