So she waited, and waited- there were only twelve stations- until she got to the front of the line in the gymnasium, and then until a chair cleared. Sitting between two other women, one Hispanic and one African-American, she was hyper-aware of being the only Caucasian visitor.

Eyes down, Andrew entered in his protective shuffling teen gait, exaggerated shoulder movement, his feet kind of sliding along. She wondered why teenage guys considered it so cool to be sullen and silent, then tried to remember when Andrew had begun to adopt that walk. She thought it was about the time he'd stopped talking to her- to anyone in the family, really- three or four years ago.

But what could she do? It wasn't as though parents could control their children or exert any discipline. Not in today's world when everyone grew up so fast, when between television, the movies and the internet all kids were plugged into the same culture, the same clothes, the same slang, even the same walk. Linda believed that there was no way that she could have any impact against such a relentless and ubiquitous force. If you tried to teach them manners, discipline them, influence their behavior at all, they just shut you out. It didn't even make sense to try; they'd just resent you for it. The thing to do was be their friend when they let you and otherwise leave them alone. The best you could hope for is that they'd eventually grow out of it, and somehow turn out okay. But that sure wasn't anything over which she had any control.

The partition prevented her from giving him a hug. She missed the contact. It might embarrass him, but thank God he still let her hug him sometimes. Not that it wasn't somehow grudging, not that he hugged her back with any enthusiasm. But he was still her baby, and she didn't know any other way to reach him.

Andrew pulled out his chair and sat down across from her. They didn't have him in handcuffs. They could reach across the counter and hold hands if they wanted, although she knew that Andrew probably wouldn't go there.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

Silence.

"Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Sure." A pause. "Thanks for coming down."

"Hal and Alicia say hi."

"I'm sure."

"Don't you want to tell them hi back?"

His eyes were flat. "Sure."

For a minute, she feared that neither of them would find anything else to say.

She forced herself to keep trying. "How are you holding up?"

"Okay."

"Really?"

A shrug.

Another silence.

"You look a little tired. Are they feeding you all right?"

"Yeah." He drew a heavy breath, finally said something. "My lawyer was by earlier."

"I know. She called us, too."

"What'd she tell you?"

Linda tried to sound upbeat, but the news didn't lend itself much to that. "That she was bringing on another lawyer from her firm to help with your case. Supposedly he's really good."

"What else is she going to say? That he's shit?"

"Well." She wished he wouldn't use that kind of language, but she wasn't going to say anything he might take as a reprimand. Not with everything else he was going through. "She also told Hal about these criteria to keep you here."

"Yeah," he said. "The Ritz."

Linda sighed. "Do you like her?"

"Who?"

"Amy. I mean, Hal and I feel she's doing a really good job, and now she's brought on this senior partner to help. But if you didn't feel good about her…"

"I don't really care. She's all right. It doesn't really matter."

"Of course it does, Andrew. Don't lose hope now."

"Okay."

"Really," she said. "Don't."

He shook his head. "Okay, sure, good idea, Mom. Except that it's starting to look I'm never going to get out of custody."

"Don't say that." She reached out over the counter. "Here, hold my hand," she said.

"That's not going to help anything."

"Please," she said. "Humor me, okay?"

He sighed again and put his hand in hers. "So there's this hearing on Tuesday to see if I stay here. Did she tell you it doesn't look too good?"

"Not really so much that. She said it was kind of like a dress rehearsal for the trial, where we get to see what they've got. Which is really an advantage."

"I bet."

"It is."

He shrugged again. "Either way, Mom, I didn't do this and still they got me in here. If they can do that, I don't think they're ever going to let me get out."

Linda didn't want to argue with him. "Well," she said, "let's just wait for Tuesday and hope for the best."

"Mom, the best, even if we win on Tuesday, is eight years."

"No. If they have the trial down here, then the worst is eight years."

"Great," he said, "maybe we should throw a party."

"Andrew."

"All right, all right."

"Let's just see, okay. Keep your chin up." She gave him a quick buck-up smile, squeezed his hand.

"Sure."

A longish silence settled. Finally, she said, "I want to ask you something."

"Okay."

"And I want to know how you really feel."

"All right."

She took in a lungful of air. "Well, you know the Newport Open…" This was a tennis tournament in Southern California that they'd attended for the past several years. "It starts tomorrow and-"

He pulled his hand out of hers. "Go."

"You're sure?" She searched his face for any sign of wavering, and saw none. "You won't mind?"

"Why would I mind?"

"It's just we won't be able to visit you."

"That's all right. I'm going to be working with Amy most of the days anyway. It doesn't matter."

"You keep saying that."

"That's 'cause it's true. It doesn't matter."

"We'd stay here if it made any difference to you at all, you know. At all, even the tiniest little bit. No question."

"I know that."

"But we've had these tickets for months. They're really expensive, you know, but we'd give them up gladly. We would."

"You don't need to."

"And even if we do go, we'll be back by Monday, in plenty of time for the hearing. We'd be there for you for that."

"Mom, I said go. I mean it. It's no big deal."

"You're sure? I mean completely positive?"

"Completely," he said. "A hundred percent. Go. Have a good time."

It wasn't yet completely dark out, but Wu had drawn the blinds in her apartment and turned out the lights. She was completely wrung out and badly shaken by the thought that Glitsky might actually entertain the thought that she could have killed Allan. When she had at last gotten home after the interview, she'd swallowed more aspirin, brushed her teeth twice, then taken a shower.

Her head still throbbed, but she let herself believe that it was marginally better. By the time she woke up in the morning, she might be halfway to human again. Collapsing into bed, she had just pulled the covers up over her head, turned onto her side and closed her eyes when the doorbell sounded. This time she was going to ignore it. She'd already had the day from hell and all she wanted it to do was end, which it would when she slept. Whoever it was would go away.

Another ring.

Leave me alone! She pulled the covers tighter around her.

The knock, when it came, was authoritative. Three sharp raps. "Amy! Come on, open up." Brandt.

She threw her blankets off and padded over the hardwood to the door, spoke through it. "What do you want, Jason? I'm trying to sleep. I don't feel good."

"I want to talk to you."

"Talk to me in the morning."

"Two minutes, that's all."

"You can apologize through the door."

"It's not just that."

"No? Well, it should be." She hesitated another moment, then sighed. "All right, let me get some clothes on." Hitting the light switch by the door, she grabbed her jeans, stepped into them, then tucked in the yellow spaghetti strap cotton blouse she'd gone to bed in.