“This must be about the only place to eat at night,” Abby said.

“Except for the bars.”

“Well, that lets you out for a couple more years.”

He snorted and paused on the sidewalk in front of the pizza place, a one-story cement-block building painted Day-Glo orange that looked like a converted garage. Two big plate-glass windows framed a red door. An old-fashioned white glass sign, lit by flickering bulbs, hung over it, with Clark’s in red script. Teens and a few older patrons were visible through the windows.

“What do you say?” Abby said. Probably having pizza with his mom was the last thing on Blake’s to-do list, and the first foray into the social life of the town would be even more of a challenge. The group she’d joined for parents of trans teens had stressed the importance of letting Blake lead the way in defining what was comfortable for him and what wasn’t. If he wanted to tell his teachers and friends he was trans, she supported that. If he didn’t want to be out or chose to be more selective and only tell a few friends, she supported that as well. The only absolute was that she supported him in all ways in all situations with all comers. She resisted the urge to ruffle his short hair. He was her child, of course she supported him.

“I’m starving,” he said at last. “Pepperoni?”

“Mushrooms?”

He made a face.

Abby laughed. “Half pepperoni, half mushrooms?”

He grinned, and for just an instant she saw the child he had once been, filled with joy and expectation and trust. She wanted to see that smile dominate his life again.

“After you,” she said.

With an almost perceptible squaring of his shoulders, he strode forward and she followed.

The place was one big room with a counter at the back, noisy, smelling of tomato sauce and cheese and, of all things, hay. Three booths occupied one side and the rest of the space was filled with five or six rickety Formica tables surrounded by chairs that looked like they’d been there since the 1950s, aluminum legs and vinyl seats, cracked and patched in places. Pizza boxes, paper plates, and sweating cardboard cups of soda covered every surface. A dozen teenagers lounged around the room in groups of twos and threes. Some glanced their way and then went back to their conversations. Blake ordered for them while Abby grabbed a booth vacated by three high-school-age girls. The girls smiled at Blake as he returned. He colored slightly and slid into the booth. Abby sat across from him.

“Presley invited us to dinner Saturday afternoon,” Abby said.

“Do I have to go?” Blake said.

“Presley is an old friend and the head of the hospital. She used to help babysit when you were small.”

“I don’t remember.” Blake picked at the edge of a paper plate.

“I know. But we live here now and I’d like us to meet people as a family.”

“Yeah, okay.”

He didn’t sound particularly enthused. Meeting new people was always a challenge for them both. Sometimes there were questions, sometimes only curious looks. Fortunately, they’d rarely run into overt bias or hostility, but she lived with the expectation that could happen at any time, and she knew he did too. All they could do was deal with whatever came, together.

“The hospital’s not far,” Abby said. “Probably a fifteen- or twenty-minute walk if you want to have lunch when I’m on the day shift.”

“I’d rather get a bicycle,” Blake said.

“Really? Okay. First thing.” The city hadn’t really been conducive to biking, the traffic too dangerous and the subway too convenient. They hadn’t lived all that far from his school, so he’d been able to walk or bus in inclement weather. He’d be ready for his driver’s license soon, but he hadn’t brought it up and she was in no hurry to have him on the roads. “I’ll try to get off early one afternoon and we can drive”—she laughed—“somewhere to get one.”

“I could probably get one on Craigslist.”

“I think we can spring for a new bike.”

The guy behind the pizza counter called out Blake’s name. As he rose to get the pizza, a girl called, “Hey, Blake!”

A teenager with blond curls to her shoulders, brilliant blue eyes, and the graceful gait of an athlete crossed the room to Blake, a big smile on her face. That was interesting. Somehow Blake had made the acquaintance of a girl he hadn’t mentioned. Blake picked up the pizza and gestured toward the booth. A moment later the two teenagers crowded into the booth across from her with the pizza pan in the middle of the table.

The girl held out her hand to Abby. “Hi, Dr. Remy. I’m Margie Rivers. Flann and Harper’s sister.”

“Hi,” Abby said, hiding her surprise. “I didn’t realize you two had met.”

“Yeah,” Margie said. “At the library today.”

Avoiding Abby’s gaze, Blake said to Margie, “Pepperoni or mushroom?”

“Oh, that’s okay. I already had supper.”

“Go ahead,” Abby said, sliding a mushroom slice onto her plate. “I suspect there’s probably still room for more.”

“Well, maybe one.” Margie glanced at Blake. “Pepperoni.”

Blake eased a slice onto a paper plate and passed it to Margie.

“Thanks,” Margie said.

Abby said cautiously, “I haven’t had a chance to see the school, Margie. Presley said it’s a regional high school, with a pretty big class. How do you like it?”

“It’s fine. The teachers are mostly all pretty good. Our school graduating class has a seventy-five percent college acceptance rate, which is slightly better than the state average. We score okay on the SATs too, and if you select for just the college applicants, we do even better.”

Abby put her pizza down and regarded Margie, suppressing a smile. “You seem to be somewhat of a statistician.”

“No, not really. My sister Carson is the MBA. She’s head of admissions at the hospital. I’m interested in economics, but I’ll probably end up in medicine like the rest of the family.”

“I take it that’s something of a family legacy.”

“Yeah. It’s not required or anything.” Margie shrugged. “But I guess it’s kind of in the genes.”

“I hope not,” Blake muttered.

Abby laughed. “Maybe not in our family.”

Margie looked at Blake. “So what are you planning on doing?”

“Oh. Well. I’m going to be a writer.”

“That’s cool. Novels, or what?”

“Fiction, yeah.” Blake looked nonchalant, but his eyes had brightened.

“So, are you writing anything now?”

“I’ve got a couple things started.”

“That’s really cool. Do you think you’ll go to college or just start out writing?”

Blake cut a look at Abby. “I think my mom would have a heart attack if I didn’t go to college.”

“Something along those lines,” Abby said dryly.

Margie laughed. “Yeah, I know how that is.”

“I don’t mind,” Blake said. “I think studying writing and literature will be good.”

“Me too. I love books.”

“Me too,” Blake said softly.

When the pizza was done, they all walked out together. Abby held back a little while Blake and Margie walked ahead, discussing a book she’d never heard of. Margie stopped by the bike rack.

“I’ll see you,” Margie said to Blake. “Nice meeting you, Dr. Remy.”

“Call me Abby. And you too.”

Margie waved and biked away. Abby chose her words carefully. Don’t push. Don’t pry. Leave the door open. God, it was hard sometimes. She wanted to ask a million things—are you going to tell her? Do you like her—girls—that way? What do you want that will make you happy?

“She seems nice,” Abby finally ventured.

“Yeah.” Blake stuffed his hands in his pockets. “She is.”

Small beginnings. Abby breathed the fragrant air and listened to the sounds of the night coming to life. One step at a time.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Abby glanced at the GPS, which had suddenly decided to send her in a completely opposite direction from the one in which they’d been driving. “That doesn’t look right.”

Blake leaned forward to study the map and then out the window. “None of this looks right either. I can’t see anything. I don’t think anybody lives out here.”

“I’m quite sure they do,” Abby said, laughing. “These are just farms.”

“Yeah, but there aren’t any houses.”

“There’s one right up on that hill over there.”

Blake sat back with an undisguised huff of disgust. “Okay. One.”

Still laughing, Abby slowed to check the number on a mailbox coming up. She slowed further and turned in to a one-lane dirt driveway. “This is it.”

“How long do we have to stay?”

“Until I’ve had a chance to talk to my friend, have a decent dinner, and find you a boarding school in another country.”

“Ha-ha. Which country?”

“I hear Switzerland is nice.”

“At least I could ski.”

“I’m quite sure there’ll be plenty of skiing around here in a few more months.”

Blake perked up. “Can I get lessons?”

“Yes, if you think you can survive that long.”

Grinning, Blake said, “I’ll try.”

“There’s the house. Oh, it’s really nice.”

“Can we have a dog?”

“Do you really want one?” Abby pulled into a wide space between a big white clapboard house with a porch running along the front and a weathered red barn that was twice as big as the house. Come to think of it, the barns they’d passed were always bigger than the houses, a subtle sign of the priorities of farming life. “A dog is a big responsibility for a long time.”

“Yeah,” Blake said. “But it’d be nice to have someone around.”

He didn’t have to say when you aren’t there, but she heard it clearly enough. Her mother had stopped living with them when Blake was old enough to come home from school and be by himself for a few hours until Abby got back from the hospital. With just the two of them, the apartment had seemed too big and too quiet, but she couldn’t begrudge her mother a move to Florida after she’d given up more than a decade to live with her and look after Blake. She couldn’t have managed without her, and even though her mother had insisted she was happy to do it and wouldn’t have missed Blake’s childhood for anything, living in New York City had been a sacrifice. Abby’s father had died in a car accident while Abby had been in her last year of high school, and her mother had barely begun thinking about what she’d do with her life when Abby had gotten pregnant in her second year of college. Her mother had never wanted to live in the city. She’d grown up in the foothills of the Adirondacks, where Abby had spent some idyllic summers as a child with her grandparents. Living in the Syracuse suburbs where Abby had grown up, her mother had always talked of retiring somewhere warm without snow.