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Oliver\u2019s lips pressed together. Grace looked at Richard. \u201cWe had a meeting at school.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAt school?\u201d Richard frowned. \u201cI didn\u2019t get any email.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt wasn\u2019t planned.\u201d Grace\u2019s eyes held his. Calm. Not evasive, not guilty\u2014just\u2026 calm. \u201cI\u2019ll tell you everything. But maybe we should sit?\u201d<\/p>\n
They moved to the front room. Sunlight slanted across the hardwood, gilding the picture frames\u2014Oliver at the beach with his mother, Oliver at a piano recital, a baby Oliver asleep on Richard\u2019s chest. He remembered those Saturdays: conference calls on mute while a tiny heartbeat warmed his shirt.<\/p>\n
Richard sat opposite his son and forced his voice to gentle. \u201cI\u2019m listening.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was during reading circle,\u201d Grace said. \u201cTwo boys made a joke about how slow Ollie reads. He stood up for himself\u2014and for another boy they were teasing too. A scuffle. Oliver ended up with the bruise. The teacher separated them.\u201d<\/p>\n
Richard\u2019s jaw tightened. \u201cB:ullying,\u201d he said, the word landing like a gavel. \u201cWhy wasn\u2019t I called?\u201d<\/p>\n
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