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questions asked—which was why I always
     ended up telling her everything, all about the cruel girls and indifferent boys. “It sucks now,” she would say, “but I promise
     you, Rickie, it gets better,” and I’d believe her because she wasn’t old like my parents or stupid like everyone else in the
     whole world.
    When Noah was born, she left her toddler daughter and husband at home together so she could spend the night at the hospital
     with me, curled up on the hard, narrow fold-out chair that was meant to be used by the new baby’s father, whispering to me
     whenever I woke up that Noah was the cutest, the sweetest, the best little boy who had ever been born and that we were going
     to have so much fun bringing him up together.
    She kept me from being alone when it would have hurt the most.
    So you see, there was no way I could ever resent Melanie or rejoice in her marriage falling apart or anything like that.
    All I could do was love her.
    Melanie was waiting for me and Noah in the kitchen with a beautifully arranged plate of cut-up fruit. Noah grabbed a handful
     of grapes off the plate and left, probably to go play on the computer, which he wasn’t supposed to do until he’d finished
     his homework, but on days when I wanted a break I followed a strict “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy.
    That was most days, admittedly.
    “How was your meeting with Dr. Wilson?” Mel asked. As far as I knew, she had never had to meet with the principal about either
     of her kids.
    I described it to her and she said all the right sympathetic things but then ruined her supportive streak by adding, “They
     might have a point, though, Rickie—I mean, about Noah’s needing to get stronger. He can’t keep up with Cameron on the scooter
     and Cameron’s a year younger. He always complains when he has to walk a block, and he never wants to run around or play a
     game outside. If he stopped doing PE, he wouldn’t be getting any exercise at all and—”
    I waved my hand impatiently, cutting her off. “I know, I know.” I edged toward the doorway. “I’m going to go run and check
     my e-mail. We have to leave again in half an hour.”
    “Where to?”
    “Noah has a doctor’s appointment. Blood test.”
    “Want me to go with you?”
    “Nah, I’m good.”
    “You sure?” She looked crushed. Melanie never had anything but time on her hands when the kids were with Gabriel.My mother kept saying she should get a job, for her own sake, but Dad said to give her more time.
    Seeing her disappointment, I quickly added, “But it would be nice to have company.”
    Her face lit up.
    It went badly. Sometimes it just does. First they kept us waiting forty minutes, which gave Noah time to work himself up into
     a state of anxiety over the blood test. But that wasn’t the bad part. That came in the examining room when the nurse couldn’t
     find the vein right away and had to keep wiggling the needle around under Noah’s skin. He was sitting on my lap—the good thing
     about his being small for his age was that he still fit there—and I tried to hold him steady, but, god, it looked like it
     hurt. He had been so brave at first, too, resigned as the needle went in, just intent on reminding me that I owed him a treat
     afterwards, but then when the nurse started poking around for the vein, he turned pale, then he moaned and then he screamed
     and the scream ended in a sob. I looked at Melanie, who was standing across the room, and there were tears in her eyes but
     she mouthed, “It’s okay,” like
I
was the one close to crying. I just nodded and held Noah’s clammy, shaking body against my chest and closed my eyes so I
     wouldn’t have to see the sharp tip of the needle moving around under his skin and murmured over and over again, “I know it
     hurts but it helps, I know it hurts but it helps” until the words didn’t mean anything to me at all.
    Mom was cooking something on the stove when we got back. “How’d it