leggings, eager to get started.

“Wait till you see me on the unevens.”

“I can’t wait.”

“You never watch me. You’re always talking.” “I watch you and talk at the same time.” “No, you don’t. I see you through the window. You talk to Susan or Billy’s mom or the other ladies. You don’t watch.” “I’ll watch this time.” She looked doubtful. “Promise.” “I promise.”

“I’ll know if you’re lying, Mom. I’ll look to see.” “Fine. Look. You’ll see me watching.”

Her face was still skeptical as she tossed me her socks and ran into the gym to begin the warm-up. Two seconds later, she was back. “Mom, what if my tooth comes out in class?”

“I don’t think it will. But if it does, we’ll wrap it up and take it home in a tissue.”

She frowned. “But what if it falls in the pit? What if I lose it?” Her eyes filled with terror at the thought.

“Mollybear,” I said, “don’t worry. The Tooth Fairy will accept a note from your mother.”

“Are you sure?” Again, that doubtful look.

“Positive.”

“There is no Tooth Fairy, is there? She’s fake like Santa Claus.”

“Who said Santa Claus is fake?”

“Everyone knows that. He’s just make-believe. It’s really the parents.”

I sighed. Was this the time and place for this discussion? “Molly, hurry. They’re in there warming up. You’ll be late.”

I stood at the window, wondering what to tell her. Truth was important to me; I wanted never to lie to her or shatter her trust. Maybe I’d fudge it, tell her that if she believed in Santa or the Tooth Fairy, they’d exist, at least in a way. Oh, who knew.

I watched her confidently take her spot in the circle of five-and six-year-olds who prepared to stretch, kick, leap, flip, jump, and tumble. Equipment was strategically arranged throughout the gym—trampolines, vaulting horses, balance beams, bars, parallel bars, rings, and floor mats, and, at the far wall, the kids’ favorite: the pit, an in-ground swimming pool filled with odd-shaped chunks of foam rubber. After each class, children leaped, lunged, flipped, cartwheeled, or got pitched into the pit, then worked their way out screaming and laughing.

Molly was adept at gymnastics. She flipped fearlessly, cartwheeled artfully. Gravity did not intimidate her. To me, her skill was a clear reminder that we had no genetic ties. I was not and had never been light on my feet. “Graceful” and “agile” were not adjectives used to describe me. I’d been a swimmer, a water person, never completely comfortable on land, but Molly was. For the zillionth time I wondered what else she’d inherited, what other surprising traits or talents would emerge over time. She knew she’d been adopted but hadn’t seemed too interested in that fact. Not yet. I wondered when she would be, what she’d want to know, what I would tell her. What I could.

Mothers clustered on folding chairs in the observation room, heads bent together, buzzing. I knew better than to look for Susan—she and Emily were always late—so I found an empty chair and joined the group. Nobody greeted me. Not a single person as much as looked my way. I swallowed. I waited. Still nothing. I began to feel awkward, as if I were intruding. But that was nonsense. I belonged here as much as anyone; these women were my friends.

Something was wrong. Normally, Karen greeted me with a hug, dark eyes smiling. Now, Karen didn’t even blink at me. In fact, Karen and Davinder were staring at—what was her name? Chubby little Serena’s mom—the spunky woman with the curls—Ileana? That was it, Ileana. Why? Oh. Because Ileana was crying.

Then I noticed Leslie. Her long red hair hung limp and dull; her skin was so ashen that even her freckles seemed washed out. Her eyes were glazed, focused inward. Even though she was staring my way, she didn’t seem to see me. Finally, Karen motioned for me to come take the seat beside her. Quietly, with a sense of dread, I edged my way around the chairs and squeezed in.

“But why’d she leave Billy there?” Ileana dabbed her nose as she asked. “Didn’t she say anything about where she was going?”

“No. Nothing,” Karen shook her head. “We don’t know why. She just ran up to the woman, told Billy to stay with her, and ran out of the park.”

“And the woman—she just sat there? Why didn’t she do something?”

“How could she? She had her own two kids. She couldn’t just leave them there to chase a stranger.”

“Maybe not. But she could have stopped