Free When He Fell by Kate Hewitt

play dates he and Josh have had, the pick ups and drop offs?
    I sink slowly into the sofa. I don’t want to pursue that line of thought. Not now, not on top of everything else. “Why, then?” I ask and Lewis doesn’t answer for a long moment.
    “I don’t know,” he finally says. “I feel like there’s something Mrs. James is not telling us. Something she’s hiding.”
    “What could she be hiding?”
    “I don’t know,” Lewis says again.
    I sigh as weariness crashes over me. I’ve missed an entire afternoon of scheduled appointments. “And now Josh is off school for a week.”
    Lewis shakes his head. “He’s not going back to Burgdorf.”
    “What?” I stare at him. “Lewis, where else is he going to go?”
    Lewis clamps his jaw. “Anywhere else.”
    “You think we can get him into another private school in October?” I ask in disbelief. “You think he’ll thrive in some kind of cutthroat academic environment?”
    “Public school, then.”
    “We’re zoned for PS 84. You remember what we learned about that?”
    “Test scores aren’t everything, Jo.”
    I’m sure there are plenty of people who would say PS 84 is a very good school. It probably
is
a very good school, at least for Manhattan. But only a third of their students were proficient or better in both math and reading when tested in third grade. There are thirty-four kids in a class with one teacher.
    That is not the place for Josh.
    “Lewis,” I say and he gives a twitchy kind of shrug.
    “We can figure something out. Homeschool him if we have to.”
    “
Homeschool?
And how on earth are we going to do that when we both work? Besides, homeschooling is the last thing Josh needs. He needs to be around people, to be drawn out—”
    “Do you really think he was drawn out at Burgdorf?”
    “
Yes
. He’s been happy there, Lewis. Look at the way he’s opened up. He did a research project on Legos and he loved it. He gets fact books out of their library and memorizes them—”
    “He can get fact books out of a local library, Jo.”
    “Burgdorf is good for him,” I say firmly. “Do you remember what preschool was like?” We are both silent, recalling the year-long hell of Josh’s selective mutism. “This will blow over,” I say and Lewis lets out a hard laugh.
    “You really think so? And what about Ben? If he really does have a serious brain injury…” He sinks into a chair, raking both his hands through his hair. “Poor Ben. I should call Maddie.”
    Again I feel that shivery apprehension. “Yes,” I say, and rise from the sofa. “You should call Maddie.”
    I go to Josh’s room, knocking softly on the door behind I open it and come inside. Josh is sitting by the window, at the little table and chairs set we got him when he was a toddler. He’s far too big for them now, and his knees are practically up by his chin. He’s studying one of his many Lego books; as I come to stand behind him I see he’s looking at an intricate design of a spaceship. It needs over a thousand pieces to be completed.
    Inadvertently I glance at the many bins of Legos we’ve bought for Josh over the years, in every color, shape, and size. He’s never played with them. He just looks at the books and memorizes facts, but he won’t actually build anything. I think it frustrated Lewis the most; construction was something he could share with his son. But both of us have long ago stopped suggesting Josh use the Legos. He’s seemed happy with his facts and his books.
    “Hey, Josh,” I say, and I cram myself into one of the little chairs. “How are you doing?” He shrugs. “I’m sorry about all this. I know it doesn’t feel fair. It isn’t fair.” He simply stares at the spaceship design and I take a deep breath. “Will you tell me what happened? Between you and Ben? You say you weren’t fighting, and I believe you. But did you push him?” No answer. “Whatever happened, Josh,” I tell him steadily, “we love you. Dad and I will always