Larry nodded. "I like the funeral angle, too. It's different. Original."

Marcelo looked relieved. "Okay, Ellen. Good. So you just don't have the draft yet. When can you finish it?"

"Next Friday?"

"She's been working on that Sulaman follow-up," Sarah interrupted, and Ellen turned on her, not bothering to hide her feelings.

"What are you talking about?"

"You've been working on Sulaman, right?" Sarah asked calmly, lifting an eyebrow. "That's the real reason you blew this deadline, isn't it?"

"That's not true!" Ellen shot back, but she could see that Sarah had gotten Marcelo's attention.

"Yes, it is," Sarah continued, her tone measured. "I know because Susan Sulaman called yesterday. She said she'd been calling you and couldn't reach you, so the switchboard sent the call to the newsroom, and I picked up. She said you'd interviewed her and wanted to know if you'd talked your editor into running the story."

Marcelo's eyes flared, and Ellen's face burned.

"You have no idea what I've been doing, so stay out of my business!"

"I knew you wouldn't make the deadline." Sarah remained calm, but Ellen raised her voice.

"Your story is separate from mine!" She couldn't stop herself from shouting even though everyone had fallen into shocked silence. Her head was about to explode. "It's not your concern whether I make my deadline or not!"

"Beg to differ." Sarah sniffed. "I pitched the piece in the first place and you're s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g it up. We're all ready, why aren't you?"

"Ladies, hold on." Marcelo stood up behind his desk, raising his hands. "Everyone, please, give Ellen and me a minute."

"Good luck," Sal said with a smile, plucking his coffee from the edge of the desk, and Larry followed suit, both of them edging past Ellen, who turned her head away when Sarah brushed by her, trailing perfume and adrenaline. After they had left, Marcelo put his hands firmly on his hips.

"Close the door, please," he said quietly.

Ellen did, then faced him.

"What's going on? You never miss a deadline." Marcelo looked mystified, and his tone sounded more disappointed than angry. "Is she right? Was it the Sulaman follow-up that delayed you?"

"No."

"Did you interview the mother?"

"Yes. Only once."

"When?"

Ellen could hardly remember. She rubbed her face. Everything before the white card was a blur, as if a line had been drawn down the middle of her life, dividing it into Before and After. HAVE YOU SEEN THIS CHILD? HAVE YOU SEEN THIS CHILD? Her head hurt so much she felt dizzy. "Tuesday?" Her head hurt so much she felt dizzy. "Tuesday?"

"But I asked you not to." Marcelo's tone wasn't disappointed, Ellen realized, but hurt.

"I'm so sorry. I just had to."

"Why?"

"I was just curious, I had to see her again." Ellen knew it sounded lame, and Marcelo looked grave, his eyebrows sloping down.

"Ellen, let's be honest with one another. Ever since I let Courtney go, I feel you've been distant. You've acted differently toward me. It's as if we're on different sides."

"No, we're not, I swear."

"Please, don't work against me. We have too much work for anybody to be doing that. We're doing more with less, and every day it gets worse."

"I'm not working against you."

"But all this fussing with Sarah, it's not needed."

"It won't happen again."

Marcelo finger-raked his hair from his forehead and fell silent a moment, eyeing her. "I can tell something's wrong. You're not yourself. Is it Will? I know he was sick when he was little. Is he sick again?"

"No." Ellen couldn't tell him anything, as much as she would have loved a sounding board. "I'll have the story to you early next week. I said Friday because I wanted to be realistic."

"Tell me what's wrong," Marcelo said again, his voice even softer. "You look tired."

"I don't feel that great." Ellen winced inwardly. You look tired You look tired was code for was code for you look ugly. you look ugly.

"Are you sick?"

"I threw up last night," Ellen blurted out, then watched Marcelo's eyes flare in brief surprise. Throwing up was definitely not hot, and suddenly she felt like a frigging mess. Doing and saying the wrong things, exhausted and undone. "I should just go home. I really don't feel well at all."

"Okay, that's fine, of course." Marcelo nodded, walking around his desk toward her. "If you're sick, you must go home. Take care of yourself."

"Right, thanks." Ellen moved to the door, feeling oddly dizzy. She broke out into a sweat. Her head was light. She hadn't had time for breakfast. Even Connie had looked at her funny.

And in the next second, the office went black.

Chapter Thirty-five.

"Surprise, I'm home!" Ellen called out from the doorway, slipping out of her coat. The living room was bright and peaceful, with a winter sun streaming through the windows, and the sight brought her back to reality, after having fainted in Marcelo's office. She'd blamed it on her mystery illness when she regained consciousness in his arms, their faces close enough to kiss. Or maybe she had imagined that part.

"Mommy!" Will zoomed from the dining room, his rubbery sneakers thundering on the soft pine floors.

"Honey!" Ellen let her coat fall to scoop him up and give him a big hug, and Connie came out of the kitchen, looking pleased. She was dressed to go to Happy Valley for the weekend in her Penn State wear, gray stretch slacks and a blue Nittany Lions sweatshirt.

"Hi, El. Is there much ice on the road?"

"No, and thanks for shoveling the walk."

"That's all right. Will helped."

"Good for you, sweetie." Ellen set Will down, and he hit the ground moving. She had called Connie on the way home, telling her she was taking the day off, though she'd edited out the fainting. "No school today, huh?"

"No, Mommy. We read four books!" Will held up four fingers, and Ellen grinned.

"Good for you!"

Connie said, "I don't know why they closed. It's a gyp, for what you pay."

"It's all right." Ellen smiled at Will, cupping his warm head. "I wanna have some fun, don't you, honey?"

"Fun!" Will started jumping up and down, and Ellen laughed.

"How about sledding? Is that fun?"

"YES!" Will shouted, jumping like crazy.

"Good idea." Connie reached for her coat, purse, and tote. "TGIF, hey?"

"Exactly." Ellen smiled, glad to give her the time off after she'd been working so hard. "Who are we playing this weekend?"

"n.o.body as good as we are."

"So we're winning?"

"Of course. Mark might even start." Connie grinned.

"Go Lions!" Ellen raised a fist, and Will did, too, still jumping. She stroked his silky hair, beginning to feel better. "Will, say good-bye and thank you to Connie."

"Good-bye, Mommy!" Will shouted, throwing his arms around Connie's legs, and Ellen cringed.

"See ya later," Connie said, bending over and hugging Will back.

"Alligator," he replied, his face buried in her coat, and Ellen opened the door while Connie left, waving happily.

Ellen closed the door behind her with a grin for Will. "Hey, pal, did you eat lunch yet?"

"No."

"Me neither. How about we eat and then go sledding?"

"Sledding!"

"Not yet." Ellen glanced at the dining-room table, covered with crayons and coloring books. "Go pick up those crayons, please, and I'll get lunch ready. Okay, buddy?"

"Okay, Mommy!" Will ran into the dining room and thundered into the kitchen, where she could hear the sc.r.a.pe of the footstool as he pulled it up to the counter. Oreo Figaro jumped down from the couch with his characteristic chirp, and she bent over to pet him h.e.l.lo, then felt her BlackBerry vibrating on her waistband. She took the BlackBerry from its holster, and the screen showed a red asterisk next to the email.

She hit the b.u.t.ton. The email was from twinzmom373, Cheryl Martin. Ellen felt her chest tighten. She opened the email and read:

Ellen, I sent Amy an email about you and told her your email address. I'll let you know if I hear from her, but don't hold your breath. Hope your son gets better. Sorry I couldn't help more.

Best, Cheryl

Ellen bit her lip, her gaze lingering on the tiny screen. At least Cheryl had gotten through to Amy. If the email hadn't bounced back, it was still a good email address. She'd have to hope for the best, but in the meantime, she was back to Before and After. Either the carjacker was Beach Man or he wasn't. Two choices. Do or die.

"Mommy, I'm done!" Will called from the dining room. He was kneeling on a chair, trying to hold a logjam of crayons. They were dropping everywhere, and Oreo Figaro was chewing Burnt Sienna.

"Let me help, honey." Ellen got up, putting the BlackBerry away.

During lunch, she tried to tuck her anxiety away in the back of her brain, but it kept coming to the fore, even as she got Will dressed in his snowsuit and retrieved the orange plastic saucer from the bas.e.m.e.nt. She slid into her coat and took him in one hand and the saucer in the other, then went outside in the cold sun, inhaling a deep lungful of fresh air.

"Freezing, Mommy!" Will said, his breath making tiny puffs in the frigid air.

"Look, your breath looks like a little train. You're Thomas the Tank Engine."

Will giggled. "Choo-choo!"

"Here we go!" Ellen scanned the street, which was covered with a soft snow that blanketed the rooftops, filled the rain gutters, and lined the porch steps. The houses, mostly stone or clapboard, sat close together, and many of them shared driveways, like freshly shoveled Ys. Narberth was a stop-time neighborhood, where everybody looked out for each other.

They were making their way down the porch steps when Ellen realized something. Her neighbors must have gotten the white card in the mail, showing the photo of Timothy Braverman. They could have noticed how much he looked like Will, and everyone on the street knew that Will was adopted. They had all read her series, and she had even thrown a welcoming party for him when he was well enough. She used to be glad that Narberth was so chummy, but that was Before. After, it terrified her. She squeezed Will's hand.

"Ow, too tight, Mommy." He looked up in surprise, stiff in his puffy blue coat and snow pants, his arms sticking out like a gingerbread man.

"Sorry." Ellen eased her grip, shaken. She looked up and down her block, worried about running into her neighbors.

Two doors away, Mrs. Knox, an older woman, was brushing snow from her sidewalk, and on the far side of the street, stay-at-home moms Elena Goldblum and Barbara Capozzi were talking while their kids played in the snow. All of them could have seen the white card, especially the moms. Ellen stood frozen on the sidewalk.

"Mommy?" Will asked. "Are we going?"

"I'm just looking at the street. It's so pretty with the snow, isn't it?"

"Go!" Will tugged her hand, but Ellen's thoughts raced ahead. They always went sledding a few blocks away at Shortridge Park, and the place would be packed with Will's friends, their mothers, and the occasional stay-at-home dad, probably Domenico Vargas, who usually brought an old-fashioned plaid thermos of Ec ua dor ian coffee. All of them would have gotten the white card.

"Will, guess what?" Ellen knelt to see him at eye level and held him by the shoulder. His face was a circle of adorable features-those blue eyes under a pale fringe of feathery bangs, upturned nose, broad smile-framed by the drawstring of his hood. "Today, how about we go to a new place to sled?"

"Where?" Will frowned.

"Valley Forge. I used to sled there when I was growing up. Did I ever tell you about that? I loved it there."