"Billy's so charming it's easy to forget how much help he still needs," I said.

"Do you think he should go somewhere?" Julia asked. "A private hospital or something? Wouldn't that help him if he's charged with something?"

The idea of putting Billy in another hospital, right after Payne Whitney, wasn't very appealing to me, but I knew it might be the only answer. "We should talk with him about it, when he's able to. And we should call Carl Rossetti, in case Billy needs a lawyer again." I glanced at the clock. Almost 2:00 a.m. "The police haven't shown up so far. That's a good sign."

"Is there any where he could go that's… comfortable?" Julia asked. "You know, not a locked psych ward type of thing. That would be so horrible for him."

I thought about that for a few seconds. A possibility came to mind. "I could talk to Ed Shapiro, a friend of mine who runs the Riggs Center in Stockbridge," I said. "It's more like a retreat than a hospital. They call it a 'therapeutic community.' The patients live in cottages and get psychotherapy every day." I took a deep breath, shook my head. "I just don't know if they'd take someone with a history of violence like Billy's, even as a favor."

"It seemed like everything was going so well," Julia said. She took my hand. "Not much of a honeymoon."

Not much of a honeymoon. If I had stopped to think about that line, I might have realized I had heard it before- from Lilly. And it might have started me wondering about one very important similarity between the two women. But the trouble we were having with Billy was making me feel even closer to Julia. My mind was already starting to conceive of him as our child. I ran my fingers up the underside of Julia's arm, then stopped, noticing Garret at the entry way to the dining room. I took my hand back. We'd been careful to avoid physical contact in front of the boys. "What's up, champ?" I asked.

"I think I better tell you something," he said.

"What?" I asked.

Garret walked closer to us, his face solemn.

"Garret?" Julia said. "What is this about?"

"Billy," he said.

"You want to sit down?"

"No." He seemed jittery. "I wasn't going to say anything," he said, glancing first at me, then at Julia.

"What's bothering you?" I said.

"I found something," he said, the nail of his third finger picking at the skin at the tip of his thumb.

I waited.

"I was just hoping," he started. "I don't know what I was hoping."

"What did you find, Garret?" Julia asked, kindly but firmly.

"A cat," he said, looking up at her.

"A cat," I repeated, intuiting the rest, but hoping I was wrong.

"I was on my way to the stream." He looked at me. "There's a stream in the woods, way in back of the guest cottage. I go there sometimes, to think. So does Billy. And I found this cat."

"Dead," I said.

Garret nodded.

Julia's face fell. I instinctively reached for her hand again, but she quickly pulled it away, flashing me a look that reminded me to keep our intimacies under wraps.

"Maybe it just died," Garret said. "I mean, you never know."

"Sometimes you do," I said.

"I'm glad you told us," Julia said. "Thank you."

"Sorry," he said, more to me than his mother.

I shook my head. "Nothing to apologize for," I said, giving him the best smile I could muster. "You did the right thing. We didn't get Billy out of prison to watch him get himself put back in."

The door to Billy's bedroom was closed. I knocked. No response. "It's Frank," I said. Still, nothing. I gently tried the door. Locked. "Billy, let me in," I said. A few seconds passed, then the springs of his mattress creaked. A few seconds later the door opened-a little.

"What?" he said, without looking at me.

"Got a couple minutes?" I asked.

He turned around and headed back toward his bed. But he left the door open.

I walked into his room. He was seated on the edge of his bed, arms crossed, rocking slowly back and forth. "This is so unfair," he said bitterly.

I sat down next to him. "I think it is fair," I said.

He stopped rocking and looked at me as if I were betraying him.

"I don't think there's any way for the Sandersons to get inside your head and figure out why you were staring at their daughter," I said.

He looked down.

"And I think you went way beyond defending Jason," I said. "I think you exploded."

He shook his head, swallowed hard, as if he was about to cry again.

I put a hand on his shoulder. "You blacked out. It's lucky you didn't kill one of them."

"What do we do?" he asked, holding back his tears.

I felt as though he had opened the door the rest of the way. "I want to talk with a friend of mine who runs a place called the Riggs Center."

"A fucking psych ward again?" he said.

"It's not a psych ward. It's a place, like a retreat, out in western Mass. "

"Oh, sorry," he said. "My mistake. A funny farm."

"The medical director is a personal friend. He…"

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "Leave me alone."

I hadn't planned to bring up the cat Garret had found, but I needed to convince Billy to help himself, without destroying all hope for a relationship between the boys. "I found a cat in back of the guest cottage," I lied. "On the way to the stream?"

Billy looked at me, blinking nervously.

"A dead cat," I said.

The blinking stopped. "And?" he said.

"And that worries me, too," I said. "It should worry you."

"Why?" he said. "You think I killed it?"

I didn't respond, which Billy and I both understood to be my answer.

Something went out of Billy's eyes, something I hadn't fully seen until it was gone-his faith in me. What I couldn't know was whether it was anything more than the faith of a sociopath who had counted on me never to break ranks with him. He stood up. "Leave," he said, obviously trying to control himself. His hands balled up into fists.

"Billy-"

"Please," he said, the muscles in his arms twitching.

I stood up. "Think about what I suggested," I said. "It's the right thing to do." I walked past him and out of his room.

When I went to sleep, just before 3:00 A.M., lights were still burning in the main house. At 3:45 a.m. someone knocked on my front door. For some reason I assumed it would be Julia, up worrying about Billy, wanting to talk things through. I pulled myself out of bed, pulled on my jeans, and went to let her in. But when I looked through the glass door, I saw Billy standing there. For the first time, seeing him made me picture where my Browning Baby handgun was tucked away-in the nightstand drawer. I opened the door.

"I didn't want this to wait until the morning," he said, sounding apologetic.

"It is morning," I said with a wink.

"Right," he said. "I guess it is."

I thought about inviting him in, but thought again. "What's up?"

He looked straight at me. "I didn't kill any cat."

"Okay…" I said.

"But I'll go to that Riggs place."

I nodded. One step at a time, I thought to myself. Part of me was glad Billy was at least shamed enough by destroying a defenseless animal to deny having done it. If he went through with treatment, he could take the step of admitting what he had done later. "What changed your mind?"

"Garret."

"Garret?" I said.

"We talked-really talked-for the first time," Billy said. "About being adopted and living with Darwin and the beatings and everything. How I got the worst of it." He shrugged. "Garret feels like he let me down."

Maybe it had taken another crisis to start another phase of healing for the Bishops-this one a healing of the divide between Garret and Billy. "I'm glad for you," I said. "Both of you. It would be wonderful if you ended up being close."