” I walk to school on autopilot, the route so deeply ingrained in my mind, I could walk it blindfolded. Jez strolls beside me, our fingers entwined....He seems preoccupied and, aware of the gaps in my memory, I’m happy to keep conversation to a minimum.He slides his arms around me as we approach the school.“Nervous?” he asks.“No. You?”“Very.”He’s taller than I remember and muscular, his well-defined biceps peeping from the rolled-up sleeves of his white T-shirt. Biting his lower lip, he wipes. Sheila was Greg's mom, now fifteen and beginning high school, and Vicky's daughter, Olivia, was in eighth grade fully awash in estrogen. The moms often got together to have coffee and talked about raising children in today's world but never, ever imagined what was just around the corner.That happened on a Thursday afternoon when Olivia came home about five-fifteen from being at a friend's house. Vicky had just gotten home from work and had gone up to change when her daughter rapped softly on. More

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