The campers splintered, wading through the tall grass, claiming their territory: a dead tree, a pile of rocks, the stream itself. Two guys went downstream to pee, cackling like idiots. Chad looked at Tessa, then wandered around by himself, pointing his camera at things.

  Tessa squatted in front of a clump of ferns, their green heads bowed as if in prayer. Next to her, Tracy aimed her camera at the sky. Youssif walked by.

  “I wish I had a cigarette,” Tracy sighed.

  “Smoking’s bad for you,” Youssif said, and stepped across the stream to tell Chad something.

  Tessa lay on her back, trying to get a shot of the underside of the ferns. The ground beneath her was moist but not wet, and smelled like herbal tea.

  “Tessa!” Chad called.

  She looked across the stream at him.

  “Smile!” he ordered.

  She smiled.

  He clicked his camera several times. “Cool. Thanks.”

  Tracy sat on a nearby boulder, idly clicking one shot right after the other. “See,” she whispered to Tessa. “I told you he likes you.”

  “Tracy!” Chad called. “Smile!”

  Tracy just stared. Chad clicked off a shot, then turned to focus on the boys wading in the stream.

  “I guess he likes you, too,” Tessa said.

  “Trace!” Chad yelled. “Get in the frame with Tessa.”

  Tracy knelt next to Tessa who lay on her side facing the camera, head on elbow, ferns fanning around her head. Chad clicked a shot; then he waded across the stream.

  “Let me get one of you and Tes,” Tracy said, rising.

  Tessa started to sit up but Chad sank to his knees and began to tickle her stomach. She laughed helplessly. Tracy clicked shots until Tessa cried out, “Enough!”

  Chad rose, grabbed Tessa’s hands and started to yank her up, but Tessa said, “Wait. I have an idea.” She framed a shot of Chad’s legs, just below the knee, next to a pair of young birches. Then she clicked a shot of Tracy’s shins. She’d do a study of legs, she decided, then see if everyone could identify themselves by just that section of legs. It might be fun—it might even be difficult, especially when the legs were blended in next to trees.

  Chad went off downstream to take photos of the other campers. Tracy hung around Youssif, asking questions. The rain stopped and watery shadows played across the rocks and stream. As Tessa looked around, she realized that twenty-four shots weren’t nearly enough—when you looked closely, there was so much in the world to see.

  Anne’s day was packed with meetings. Late in the afternoon she sat at her desk, making notes, when she heard the front door open. Rising, she hurried out into the hall to greet her daughter.

  Tessa stood just inside the front door, pulling her backpack off, her clothes disheveled and dirty, her hair hanging in sodden braids from which her hair escaped in wild strands, her sneakers absolutely black with mud.

  “My God, Tessa! What have you been doing?”

  “Lots of cool things, Mom. We took nature photographs in the rain—”

  “What do they think they were doing? Letting you go out in the rain! You could catch pneumonia.”

  “No, Mom, it was really cool.” Tessa laughed. “I mean it was really warm. The air was warm. The rain was warm. I mean it was cool taking photographs in the rain.”

  Tessa headed down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving a trail of mud behind her.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Anne demanded.

  Tessa looked surprised. “To clean out my backpack.”

  “I’ll take that,” Anne ordered, lifting the backpack away from her daughter with a delicate pinch of two fingers, as if it were a bomb. “Before you do anything in this house, you’re going to take a shower and clean yourself up.”

  “Fine.” Tessa turned and plodded upstairs, her mouth grim.

  Dropping the backpack on the floor, Anne followed her daughter up the stairs and through Tessa’s bedroom into her bathroom. Tessa was beginning to lift off her T-shirt. To Anne’s surprise, Tessa turned and glared at her.

  “I don’t want you in here now.”

  “I don’t care what you want,” Anne snapped, brushing past her daughter to turn on the shower faucets.

  “I’m not taking a shower until you leave.”

  Anne stared at her daughter, appalled. “How dare you speak to me that way!”

  Tessa stood before her in her mud- and rain-stained clothes, her fists clenched at her side.

  “Mom, I’m twelve years old.”

  “I’m perfectly aware of that, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re still not capable of taking a decent bath. You’re covered with filth and it’s my responsibility as a mother to be certain that you get yourself clean.”

  “Mom, I know how to bathe. I know how to shampoo my hair. I know what you want me to do. I know how to make myself clean.”

  It was the patient tone of barely disguised superiority that infuriated Anne.

  “Oh, do you really think so? You want me to be satisfied with your standards of hygiene when you enter the house dripping muck?”

  “Mom,” Tessa choked out, “I want you to leave me alone from now on forever when I bathe.”

  Anne stared at her daughter.

  “Otherwise, it’s just too weird!”

  Anne raised her arm and brought it down with the stinging slap on Tessa’s face. “How dare you call me weird!”

  Tears spilled down Tessa’s face. “I didn’t call you weird,” she whispered. “I meant the situation is weird.”

  Anne stared at the red mark on her daughter’s cheek. It wasn’t the first time she had slapped Tessa, and like all the other times, Anne couldn’t believe she had done it. It was a horrible thing to do, Anne knew that, a horrible thing. A violent shaking raced over her body. She hugged herself with her arms.

  “I’m so sorry, Tessa. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right, Mom. I’m okay.”

  Frantically, Anne looked around the room. All at once it seemed strange to her. She felt dizzy. She felt lost. “I don’t know, Tessa—” She was becoming agitated, anxious, and no matter how hard she held herself, she was afraid she was going to fly apart. “Oh, Tessa—”

  “Come on, Mom. Let’s go to your study.”

  A warning bell rang in Anne’s mind. Vaguely registering the sorrow and distaste with which her daughter crossed the room to put a guiding hand on her arm, Anne hated herself so fiercely it made her nauseated.

  But more than anything else, even more than the gratitude Anne felt at this moment toward her daughter, was the anxiety pumping itself through Anne’s blood. With Tessa guiding her, Anne nearly ran down the stairs, along the long hallway, and into the sanctuary of her study.

  She sank into her chair. Leaning forward, Anne touched her white telephone, the small caller ID box, her Rolodex. Carefully she positioned her daily calendar so that it was aligned exactly in the center of her desk. Delicately she touched the tip of her fingers to her tape dispenser, her stapler, the malachite box full of stamps, her pastel in and out trays.

  She was calming down. She could catch her breath now. The hideous anxiety receded. She put both hands on her silver and amethyst pen tray.

  She was aware of Tessa standing there. As the anxiety retreated, shame washed through her.

  “I’m okay now, Tessa.” She was too humiliated to look at her daughter.

  Tessa cleared her throat. It sounded as if she was crying when she said, “Good, Mom. That’s good. So I’m going to go take my bath now, all right?”

  Anne nodded her head. She was so exhausted she could hardly think straight.

  “I’ll do it exactly as you’ve taught me,” Tessa reassured her. “I’ll shampoo my hair four times. I’ll rub the soap over me and rinse six times. Okay?”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  She felt Tessa’s hand on her shoulder. She knew Tessa was trying to comfort her, she knew her daughter meant to be affectionate, but it took every bit of her strength not to cringe away from Tessa, still covered as she was with grime and filth from the camp.

  “I’m okay,” Anne said again. “Go on now. Get cleaned up.”

  Tessa left the room. Anne heard her steps on the stairs. Because she needed to, she went through her touching ritual again, starting with her telephone, ending with her pen tray. Ten items. Ten was such a beautiful, complete, organized number.

  Still, when Anne heard Tessa’s bathroom door close and the rush of the water through the pipes, she put her face in her hands and wept.

  As Tessa sat with her mother in Dr. Lawrence’s waiting room, Anne flipped through an old copy of People. She kept leaning over to Tessa, wanting Tessa to oooh with her over a picture of Celine Dion’s stupid outfit or a man who had survived a plane crash. Tessa knew what her mother wanted her to do, she wanted her to act like they were best buddies. She wanted to put on the Wonderful Anne and Her Adoring Daughter Show for the receptionist.

  A door opened. A man came out. He looked really cool in loose flannels, a white T-shirt, and a black cashmere vest. This wasn’t how she’d thought a psychiatrist would look.

  Anne nudged Tessa, who rose obediently.

  “Hello, Anne,” the man said. Briefly he shook Tessa’s hand. “I’m Dr. Lawrence, Tessa. Nice to meet you.” To Anne, he said, “She’ll be out in about an hour. If you have some errands to do—”

  “You won’t be needing me?”

  “Not this session.”

  “Very well, then. I’ll be back in an hour, Tessa.” She pecked her daughter on the top of her head and, reluctantly, took her leave.

  Dr. Lawrence held the door open for Tessa, and she entered his inner sanctum. It looked, she thought, just like any other office. She was glad when he shut the door firmly behind her. With his hand he indicated the chair she was to take.

  He sat behind the desk. A Lion King frame enclosed a snapshot of a little girl.

  Following her gaze, he said, “That’s my daughter, Stephie. She loves The Lion King.”

  Tessa smiled shyly. “Me, too.”

  “Comfortable in that chair, Tessa?”

  She nodded. Now that she faced him, she could tell that Dr. Lawrence was an old guy with a young look, like a lot of teachers at her private school. Funny, because there were also lots of teachers who were very young but dressed like they were old.

  “Want something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Do you know why you’re here?”

  “I guess.”

  “Can you tell me?”

  She shrugged. “My parents are getting divorced. You’re going to help the judge decide who I should live with.”

  “Good. That’s good. I’m glad you understand.” Leaning back, he folded his hands over his flat abdomen. “How are things at home?”

  She shrugged again. “Fine.”

  “I’ve met your mother and your father both. At separate times. They’re both great people. Fascinating, capable.”

  Tessa looked at him warily.

  “But that doesn’t mean they’re perfect parents. No one’s perfect. No child is perfect, or all bad, and no parent’s perfect, or all bad.”

  “I guess.”

  “What’s it like, living with your mother?”

  “Okay.” Tessa smoothed her blue skirt against her legs. She thought she saw, in the bright sunlight streaming through the window behind Dr. Lawrence, a spot on her skirt.

  “Is she strict?”

  Tessa looked up. How could he tell? Of all the things to ask, how could he know about that?

  She nodded. “She’s really strict.”

  “In what ways?”

  Tessa rubbed her thumb over her skirt, then brought it up and chewed her thumbnail. “She’s really strict about being clean. She’s a nurse and all, so I guess she’s more aware of all the germs everywhere than most people. She’s trying to protect me, I know that. Still—”

  “Still—?”

  She chewed on the inside of her mouth.

  “I’m not going to tell everyone else what you tell me, Tessa. Part of my job is knowing what to keep quiet about. You and your mother are going to meet with me together, you know—you and your father, too. Maybe you can tell me some things you’d like to talk about, the three of us. Sometimes it helps to have a mediator. Someone outside to sort of hear both sides.”

  Tessa squirmed uncomfortably. “They’re so different, my parents. I love my dad’s farm. I love Grandpops’ horses.” She paused. “I really miss my grandmother. She was awesome.” Brightening, she added, “But I’ve got a friend—Brooke Burchardt—who lives across the road from the farm. She’s a year older than I am. She’s an awesome rider. She let me ride her horse Go-Cart once.” The memory swept over her, her fear of the powerful animal, the ecstasy of the smooth, deep canter, the pride she felt afterward.

  “But?” Dr. Lawrence prompted.

  “But—Mom hates it when I go there. She’s afraid I’ll get hurt, or sick.”

  “When you have time with your dad, do you usually go to your grandfather’s?”

  “Yeah. ’Cause Dad’s moved into an efficiency apartment. There’s nothing to do there. Sometimes Dad will take me out to eat. Sometimes he lets me bring a friend and we go to a movie.”

  “Do you feel safe with your father?”

  “Sure. He wouldn’t let me ride if he thought the horses were dangerous.” She thought of Go-Cart and grimaced.

  “What was that thought about?”

  “That thought?”

  “You got a funny look on your face.”

  Tessa squinted at him. “Dad doesn’t know I rode Go-Cart. Grandpops doesn’t, either. Only Brooke knows.”

  “Go-Cart’s a dangerous horse?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. A little. He’s younger than my grandfather’s horses, and he’s bigger, but Brooke pampers him like a baby.” She flashed on his height, his strength. “He’s an awesome horse.”

  “A stallion?”

  “Good grief, no! Not even Brooke would have a stallion around. He’s a gelding. Spirited, and he can really run. Grandfather’s horses just sort of creak along, sighing and shaking their bridles.”

  “You’d like a horse more like Go-Cart?”

  “Well, yeah, but it’s not like that’s ever going to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “My mom would have a fit.”

  “You understand where she’s coming from?”

  “I guess.” Tessa studied the man, wondering how much she could tell him. Wondering if he could ever help her. Wondering what help would be. “I know my mom loves me. I know she wants to keep me safe. But she’s so queer sometimes. Like yesterday? I came home from camp? It had been raining, and a bunch of us went out with our counselor to shoot pictures in the rain. So when I got home I was, like, muddy all over. And Mom freaked. Totally.”

  “She got really mad at you.”

  Tessa looked at the shrink’s desk, but saw the way her mother’s face had contorted when she slapped Tessa. Anger and pity flushed through her, and stronger than that, a sense of helplessness—“Mom really really hates dirt and stuff,” she whispered.

  “Did she hit you?”

  Tessa stared at him, shocked at his guess, then dropped her eyes to her lap. Could he freaking mind-read? This was getting way too scary. She had to get him off that track, fast. It would break her mother’s heart if Tessa told him that.

  Guilt leapt through her. “You know that movie Anastasia?” She was trying to guide him onto a safer path, but at the same time, here was something she really wanted to say to him.

  “The Disney cartoon version?”

  “Yeah. That one. You know after she leaves the orphanage? She’s out in the woods in the snow, and she sees a sign, and the mean old crone at the orphanage told her to go left, but she wonders what would happen if she goes right? Then she looks up at the sky and says, ‘Give me a sign!’ And right away a cute puppy appears, grabs her muffler, and prances off toward the right. So she chases after him, and there’s Saint Petersburg all spread out before her. She finds her real grandmother, and Paris and wealth, and true love and everything!” Her smile fell away from her face. She was happy, remembering the story. But really, she was here, in this psychiatrist’s office.

  “One of the hard parts of growing up is dealing with the fact that life isn’t like a Disney movie.”

  “I know. Still—”

  “Still, you wish you had a deus ex machina to arrive to show you the way?”

  “A what?”

  “Deus ex machina. A god in the machine. It’s a theatrical device. Suddenly, at the crisis point, a god floats down from the clouds to help end the conflict. Or comes down to earth to solve the problem, show you the way, so you don’t have to do it all by yourself.”

  “Like in the Mary-Kate and Ashley movie, um, It Takes Two, when the helicopter came down?”

  Dr. Lawrence nodded.

  Tessa grinned. “Yeah. I could use one of those.”

  “It’s gotta be hard, choosing between parents. Being in the middle.”

  Tessa said softly, “They’re not my real parents.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m adopted.”

  “Right. I knew that. You have birth parents and adopted parents. ’Cause they’re all real, aren’t they?”

  “I don’t know. I’d like to meet them. My mother, especially.”

  “Have you talked this over with your parents?”

  “Dad says Mom would die if I told her I wanted to meet my birth mother.”

  “Do you think she’d die?”

  Tessa squirmed uncomfortably. “Not die. It would upset her a lot, though. It would be too hard on her, especially with the election.”

  “You think you could ask her about it after the election?”

  “Yeah,” Tessa said, brightening. “If she wins, I could.”

  “What if she loses?”

  “Oh, please,” Tessa begged, but with a smile, “let’s not even go there. Let’s not even contemplate the possibility that Mom could lose!”