Chapter 4: Pickup

"I'm not in a hospital," I said. "I'm six minutes away. Don't let him out of your sight."

"I won't."

I made it in four.

Little Harbor Preschool was a yellow house with a fenced yard and paper leaves taped in the windows.

Pickup hadn't started, but the lobby was full.

Parents had come early for the fall concert.

Patricia stood at the front desk in a camel coat and sunglasses.

Tamara was beside her, phone up, filming.

Finley was behind Ms. Prichard's legs in the doorway of the Otter Room.

He saw me and his whole face opened.

"Mommy!"

Every parent in the lobby turned.

Patricia took off her sunglasses slowly.

"Kate. They let you out already?"

"Out of where?"

"You were so upset last night. We were worried."

She said it to the room, not to me.

A mother holding a toddler looked at me with pity.

Tamara angled the phone to get my face.

"This is Finley's mom, guys," she murmured into it. "She's, um, not doing great."

I walked past both of them and knelt in front of my son.

He threw his arms around my neck.

His hands were sticky with glue and glitter.

"Grandma said you were sick."

"Do I look sick?"

He studied me.

"No. You look pretty."

"Then Grandma was wrong."

I stood up with him on my hip.

Ms. Prichard held out a sheet of paper, pinched at the corner like it was dirty.

"She gave me this."

It was on Whitlow's on the Pier letterhead.

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