and early enough to greet Jonah when his school bus pulled up at 4:15. Katie, their housekeeper, was always on hand in case Dani lost the battle with the roads. Katie came in every day at three o’clock, tidied up the house, made dinner for the family, and left at 7. That way Dani knew someone would always be home for Jonah. Even though he was 12, he needed help.
Jonah had Williams syndrome, a rare genetic disorder that caused mild retardation. But it also gave him the sweetest disposition. Most days a smile graced his face and he was friendly to everyone. Too friendly for today’s world, but it was hard-wired.
“Hi, Katie,” Dani called out as she walked in. “Everything okay?”
“I’m in here,” a voice called from the direction of the kitchen.
Before Dani entered the cozy room with its 1940s-vintage Wedgwood stove, she recognized the unmistakable fragrance of chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. “Mmm, smells yummy. Almost ready?”
“Not for you, they aren’t,” Katie answered with a smile. She knew Dani had been trying to drop ten pounds and acted as her conscience. Dani wished she could take Katie to work with her. The younger people in the office could eat all day and not gain an ounce. They sat at their desks downing Krispy Kreme doughnuts with their morning coffee and peanut M&Ms for an afternoon pick-me-up, and Dani couldn’t resist when they’d offer their extras. So the ten pounds had been an uphill battle.
“You’re a sadist, Katie McIntyre.”
“True enough, but at least I’m a saint with Jonah.”
Dani couldn’t argue with that. After returning to work, she had gone through two housekeepers before finding Katie. The first two were disasters, putting her in a state of constant anxiety each morning as she left home knowing she had entrusted Jonah to their care.
Dani and Katie turned their heads as they heard the growl of an engine as the school bus pulled into the driveway. Dani opened the door for Jonah as he bounded up the few steps in front of their home and rushed into her arms.
“I had a serendipity day at school today, Mommy.”
That was another thing about Williams-syndrome kids. Despite their low IQs, they tended to have extensive vocabularies, although their choice of words often just missed the mark.
“What’s that palatable aroma? Are there cookies in the oven?”
Katie stuck her head into the foyer and nodded. “You bet. I made them just for you.”
As Jonah sat at the kitchen table with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk in front of him, Dani headed upstairs to the home office she shared with Doug. On one of the walls adjacent to the door were two desks, each with a computer sitting on top. His and hers. A bulletin board, filled with snapshots of her family, hung on the wall over her desk. She settled into her deeply cushioned chair and redirected her thoughts from warm, freshly baked cookies to George Calhoun. Vicious murderer or innocent victim? She had taken his case to find out the truth and prayed he was the latter. If he didn’t convince her, she would drop the case. Her rule was hard and fast: She didn’t represent child murderers, even if they hadn’t received a fair trial.
“Mommy, I feel discombobulated.”
Dani opened her eyes and saw Jonah standing over her. His cheeks were flushed and his dark brown eyes looked like pools of muddy water. She turned toward her alarm clock and the bright red digital numerals read 6:10, almost an hour earlier than her usual wake-up time. Doug slept soundly next to her, the covers of their down quilt pulled up to his chin to guard against the chill from the open window. Dani preferred a cool room to sleep in; Doug liked it toasty. So the window stayed open, but they’d splurged on the warmest down quilt they could find.
As she sat up, Dani tugged at Jonah’s arm to sit him next to her on the bed. She put the back of her hand against his forehead and it felt warm and sweaty. Definitely a fever. Williams-syndrome children were prone to an abundance of medical problems, and Dani strived to resist the immediate panic response to every illness. By and large, she had done well over the years, but behind her calm response a surge of terror often arose, and she needed to remind herself it was probably irrational. At least, she always told herself her fears were absurd as she