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behind us, a chance to start again. I emptied my mind by sheer will and let a calm detachment grow as I stumbled back into the house, doubled-over, heading to the bathroom.
    On the small table against the wall, I spotted the application forms from the adoption agency. The forms Jeremy had brought home last week. Which triggered last night’s argument. Among other things.
    I clenched my teeth and forced it all out of my mind — every bitter memory that begged for acknowledgment. Every thread of hope, every hollow reassurance. Everything. A bitter laugh burst out of my mouth. Who was I kidding, thinking I could save Raff? Help him recover, heal, bounce back to a normal life. Really .
    But if I didn’t try, who would? What did I have to lose?
    I’d already lost so much. And, it was clear at that moment, as my stomach cramps turned into serious pains, as blood dripped from my body like spirit leaking from my soul, that I was about to lose this baby as well. My third miscarriage in three years.
    “ The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned. ”
    I looked at my ring finger as I sat on the toilet. It felt naked and stripped bare without the gold band, the way my life felt when I thought about Jeremy sleeping on some neighbor’s couch. Jeremy had forgotten to give the ring back. Or maybe not.
     
     

     
    Chapter 3
     
     
    When I was five and Neal only two, my mother, busy unpacking boxes, told me to canvass the neighborhood and find a friend for my little brother. What was she thinking? Granted, my father had just died , and my mother was distraught, relocating from Los Angeles to a new town, burdened with three small children. And I was a hyper bundle of energy, always needy, always underfoot.
    We had moved to Mill Valley only days earlier , halfway up a steep road that ended at the base of Mount Tamalpais — or Mount Tam, as the locals called it. Just north of San Francisco Bay, the sleepy community of Mill Valley featured a tiny downtown neighborhood of dark wood-sided shops surrounded by towering redwood trees and punctuated by wisps of fog that drifted like ghosts through the streets . Aside from the main flat thoroughfare, most of the residential areas spread up into the hills by way of single - lane potholed roads , replete with blind curves. Cars whipped around the sharp bends , their drivers always in a hurry, and the houses all sat at the base of rutted narrow driveways, buried in trees and giant shrubs that proliferated in the abundant rainfall .
    Not that I noticed. I was on a mission to find Neal a playmate.
    D utifully, I made myself scarce, and taking Neal’s chubby hand in mine, went door-to-door, knocking until some stunned neighbor opened up and listened to my cheerful inquiry. Did they have a ny little kids that Neal could play with?
    Fortunately, I hadn’t had to dodge traffic for long. For less than a block away, Anne’s mother, Sarah — no doubt horrified by the thought of two small unaccompanied children gallivanting around the neighborhood — ushered us into her plushly carpeted living room. I don’t remember the scolding she gave to my mother over the phone, but when I brought it up that Wednesday , Anne seemed to remember every word.
    “Oh yeah,” she said, munching on an apple as she got her shoes out of her car. “I remember Mom clenching her fists while asking you to recite your new phone number. S he did a great job keeping her cool. I think she was ready to hand you and Neal over to child protective services right then and there. You looked like two little waifs, to her. But I was glad you showed up. It was meant to be.”
    Anne and I had a standing date each Wednesday at noon , there in that parking lot on the south end of Mill Valley . Although jogging was still the big craze, Anne would not deign to humiliate herself by wearing coordinated jogging outfits and expensive Adidas sneakers. A few inches shorter than me and at least fifty pounds