Today, the kids are starting at their new school.

Ada puts on the dress that I picked out for her first day. It’s sleeveless and pale pink, and if my son wore it, it would be smeared with dirt and grease probably before he even got out the front door, but she loves it and will almost certainly manage to keep it clean. As for Nico, I’m just happy he managed to put on some clean clothes that didn’t have any holes in them.

I was advised that the school bus stops in front of 13 Locust Street, so I herd the kids out the door, past Suzette’s house at 12 Locust, over to the house of the neighbor that I’ve been convinced has been staring at us through our shutterless windows since yesterday. Sure enough, there’s a woman and a child waiting at the bus stop, but they’re not what I expected.

First of all, the woman is older than I expected. I’m not the youngest mother among the parents of my kids’ friends, but this woman looks old enough to be my mother. She is bone thin with wiry gray hair and spindly fingers that almost look like claws. And even though Suzette told me her son is Nico’s age, the little boy at her side appears at least two years younger. He’s just as emaciated as his mother, and even though it’s a warm spring day, he’s wearing a thick wool turtleneck sweater that looks extremely itchy and uncomfortable.

Of course, maybe she’s not his mother. Maybe she’s his grandmother. She certainly looks old enough to be his grandmother. But I would never ask. I’m no Suzette. That’s one of those things you don’t say to a person

when you first meet them, along the same lines as, “Are you pregnant?” (Stupid lumpy shirt.)

As I approach them, the woman narrows her eyes at me through her horn-rimmed spectacles. I can’t help but notice the silver chain attached to her glasses, which is something I had always associated with elderly people, although one of Ada’s friends back in the Bronx wore one, so maybe they’re cool again.

“Hello!” I say cheerfully, determined to befriend this woman. After all, I would love to make some friends in Long Island. Oops, I mean on Long Island.

The woman shoots me a half-hearted smile that is more like a grimace. “Hello,” she says in the most expressionless tone I have ever heard.

“My name is Millie,” I say.

She stares at me, a hollow look in her eyes. This is when most people would tell me their name, but she apparently didn’t get the memo.

“And these are Nico and Ada,” I add.

Finally, she places a hand on the little boy’s shoulder. “This is Spencer,” she says. “I’m Janice.”

The boy suddenly shifts, revealing what looks like a hook on the bottom of his backpack, which has an attachment coming off it that the woman is holding on to. Oh my God—it’s a leash. The poor child is on a leash!

“Nice to meet you,” I say. Or should I say good dog? “I hear Spencer is in third grade ?”

It seems impossible as I’m saying it. The little boy is nearly a head shorter than Nico, who is average height for his age. But the boy, Spencer, nods his head. “Yes,” he confirms.

“Cool!” Nico’s eyes light up. “I have Mrs. Cleary as my teacher. Who do you got?”

“Who do you have,” Janice corrects him.

Nico peers up at her, blinking his dark brown eyes. “I said I have Mrs. Cleary,” he says in a slow voice, like he thinks she’s stupid. I stifle a laugh.

Before Janice can clarify that she was attempting to correct his grammar, Spencer bursts out with, “Me too! I have Mrs. Cleary too!”

The boys start chatting together excitedly, which makes me happy. Nico is so outgoing, he’s able to befriend even the shiest kids. I envy his skill.

I flash Janice a conspiratorial smile. “Well, it looks like Nico has made his first friend here.”

“Yes,” Janice says with considerably less enthusiasm. “Maybe they can have a playdate sometime?”

“Maybe.” She frowns as the lines crisscrossing her face grow more pronounced. “Has your son had all his vaccinations?”

All public schools require a full set of vaccinations, and I’m sure she knows this. But fine—I’ll humor her. “Yes.”

“Including influenza?”

It’s not even flu season, but whatever. “Yes.”

“You can’t be too careful, you know,” she says. “Spencer is very fragile.”

Admittedly, the boy does look a bit fragile, with his nearly translucent skin and tiny body, swimming in that giant woolen sweater. But some color has come into his cheeks now that he is chatting with Nico.

“It would be nice to get to know each other since I’m new here,” I say. “My husband and I are having dinner with Suzette and Jonathan tonight.”

“Oh.” Her lips curl in distaste. “I would watch yourself around that woman.” She gives me a knowing look. “And I would especially watch that handsome husband of yours.”

I don’t like what she’s implying. Yes, Suzette is very attractive, and yes, she was a bit over-the-top flirtatious. But I trust my husband—he’s not going to cheat on me with the next-door neighbor. I’m also not thrilled that Janice has taken it upon herself to comment on this.

“Suzette seems nice,” I say politely, even though I’m not sure I believe it.

“Well, she’s not.”

I don’t know what to say to that, but fortunately, at that moment, the school bus arrives, and Janice detaches her child from his leash. (But I’m sure he has a microchip with GPS implanted in his brain or something.) Nico barely acknowledges my slightly tearful goodbye,

because he’s so involved with his new friend. He does allow me to plant a kiss on his forehead, which he has the good grace not to wipe away until he’s climbing the steps to the bus. Ada, on the other hand, gives me a big hug and clings to me long enough that I wish I were taking her directly to the school.

“You’re going to make a ton of friends,” I murmur in her ear. “Just be yourself.”

Ada gives me a skeptical look. Ugh, I can’t believe I said that. Telling someone to be themselves is like the worst advice ever. I’ve always hated it when people said that to me. But I don’t have any better wisdom than that. If I did, I’d have more friends.

I wish Enzo were here. He would know exactly what to say to get her to smile. But he had a landscaping job he left for early this morning, so it’s just me.

“I’ll be waiting at home this afternoon!” I call after them. I am taking a half day today to make sure I’ll be there when they arrive, although in the future, they will likely beat me home by thirty minutes to an hour.

The doors to the bus slam shut and it drives away, carrying my two children away with it. I get that twinge of anxiety that I always feel when I’m separated from my children. Will that ever go away? It was so much easier when they were growing inside me. Well, except for the life- threatening preeclampsia I got in my third trimester with Nico, which was what prompted my decision to get my tubes tied.

It is only after the bus has disappeared from the cul-de-sac that I notice Janice is staring at me, a horrified expression on her face.

“Is something wrong?” I ask as politely as possible.

“Millie,” she says. “You’re not honestly expecting them to walk home all by themselves, are you?”

“Well, yes.” I point to my house, barely a stone’s throw away. “We live right there.”

“So what?” she shoots back. “We live right there.” She points to her house, which is literally right behind us. “And you don’t see me leaving Spencer alone for even a second. If a predator is after your child, they could snatch him just like that.”

Then she snaps her fingers right in my face to demonstrate the immediacy of the threat.

“It’s a pretty safe town though,” I say tentatively, not wanting to outright tell this woman that she’s ridiculous for keeping her grade- school-aged son on a leash.

“False security,” she sneers. “Do you know that an eight-year-old boy vanished right off the street three years ago?”

“Here?”

“No, a few towns away.” “Where?”

“I said, a few towns away.” She gives me a look. “His mother let go of his hand for one second, and he was snatched away. Vanished without a trace.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They did everything they could to find him. Called in the police, FBI, CIA, National Guard, and a psychic. Even the psychic couldn’t find him, Millie.”

I don’t know the details of this alleged abduction, but I certainly never heard of anything like that on the news. And it didn’t even happen around here. To Janice, “a few towns away” might very well mean California. I’m not sure it would help to share the statistic that almost all child abductions are committed by family members. Janice seems to have her mind made up. Spencer will probably remain on a leash until he’s thirty.

“Well, they’re going to have to go home themselves eventually,” I say. “My husband and I both work, and we can’t pick them up every day.”

She looks at me in amazement. “You work?” “Um, yes.”

She clucks her tongue at me. “When my husband passed, he left me enough money so that I wouldn’t have to work anymore.”

“Um, that’s nice.”

“It’s so terribly sad,” she goes on, “that your children don’t get to have a mother at home. They will never know the love they deserve from a mother who won’t leave their side.”

My mouth falls open. “My kids know I love them.”

“But think about how much you’re missing!” she cries. “Doesn’t that make you sad?”

The words “at least my kid isn’t on a leash” are at the tip of my tongue, but by some absolute miracle, I manage to keep my mouth shut. My children know that I love them. Also, I love my job, and I do good things for people at the hospital. And even if I didn’t, we need every penny of both of our incomes right now while Enzo is rebuilding his business out here.

“We make it work” is all I say.

“Well, I’m sure you do your best with the little time you have with them.”

Somehow, I don’t think Janice and I will be great friends. I was so excited to move here, but it’s starting to seem like I’ve chosen the least friendly cul-de-sac in town. One neighbor is hitting on my husband, and the other is judging my dedication as a mother.

Once again, I wonder if moving here has been a terrible mistake.