Greg’s official version of what happened that night went as follows: He arrived at the school; he played the piano in his room. He figured he had been playing for an hour or so when April Peck walked in. She was wet, he said. Her blond hair was matted and dripping; the soles of her shoes squeaked against the tile floor. When Greg looked out the window, he saw that it had started to rain. Then he realized April was upset; she was crying. She was wearing a jean jacket and a denim miniskirt. The jean jacket was soaked. April took it off and laid it across his piano. Underneath her jacket she wore a white T-shirt, which was also wet. He looked down at his hands, arched over the keys. (In the unedited version, he told Delilah he knew right then that he was in trouble.) He stopped playing.

He said, “What are you doing here, April? It’s nine o’clock.”

April said, still crying, “Play me something.”

Greg said, “You don’t belong in the school after-hours without a reason. Do you have a way home, or would you like me to call your mother?”

April said, “I don’t have a way home. Derek dropped me.”

“Why did he drop you here?”

“I saw the light on in your room. I thought you would be here.”

Greg said, “I’m going to call your mother and have her come get you.”

April broke into hysterical sobs. In Greg’s words, she threw herself into Greg’s arms. (Meaning what? Delilah asked. Meaning he was sitting on the piano bench and she lobbed herself into his lap. So she was sitting on your lap? Sort of, yes. It was awkward. I was trying to get her up, get her off me.) Her white T-shirt was wet and she “did not seem to be wearing a bra.” He said he “patted” April’s back and then tried to ease her up. Up onto your feet! he said. Let’s go. He said she put her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts against his shoulder. He said he jumped up with such force that he dumped April onto the ground and she bumped her shin on the leg of the piano. She howled in pain, even though it was just a bump and couldn’t have hurt that much.

She said, “I just want to talk to you.”

Greg said again, “You don’t belong here.”

She said, “I want you to take me somewhere.”

Greg said, “I’m calling your mother.” He dug out the phone book, but the number wasn’t listed under Peck. The house belonged to April’s grandparents. Greg asked April for the number; she would not tell him. Greg picked April’s jean jacket up off the piano and found her cell phone in the pocket. He scrolled through it for her home number. April grabbed for her cell phone, he held it up over his head, and in trying to get the phone back from Greg, she scratched his face. He gave her the cell phone and said, “Fine. You deal with it, then.” The scratch on his face was bleeding. He ushered April out of the room, turned off the light, locked the door, and headed down the corridor, leaving April behind. April followed him, crying, pleading. Take me home. Please don’t call my mother. She thinks I’m here with you, practicing.

“What?” Greg said. He was very, very angry now. He was afraid, too, and incredulous. What must April’s mother think about a so-called practice at nine o’clock on a Sunday night? Greg said, “I can’t take you home, I’ve been drinking.” As soon as he said it, he realized it was a huge mistake, and it was at that point that he wondered if April had been drinking or if she was on something. He hurried out to his car in the rain. Parked next to him was the car he knew to be April’s, a white Jeep Cherokee. He said he peered into the front seat to check that it was indeed April’s car, and he saw a bra lying across the driver’s seat. He got into his car and drove home, leaving April in the rain in front of the school, crying.

He should have gone home, he said. He should have crawled into bed next to Tess and told her exactly what had happened. But he did not do that, because he did not want to go home to Tess, and he knew that if he told her what had happened, she would blow a gasket. She would find something wrong with the way he’d handled things (indeed, he felt he’d handled things badly, but the situation had been impossible). Tess would berate him, they would fight. Which was why he’d left home in the first place.

So he went to Jeffrey and Delilah’s. Everyone was still there: Addison and Phoebe, the Chief and Andrea. Delilah was buzzed; she’d shrieked enthusiastically when he walked in. She fixed him a plate of food, which he was too agitated to consider eating, but he sucked down a cocktail pronto.

Jeffrey said, “Where’ve you been?”

Addison said, “It’s Phoebe’s Packers, so we decided to stay.”

Andrea said, “Where’s Tess?”

“Home with the kids,” Greg said. “Chloe has a little fever.”

Jeffrey said, “Are you okay? You look terrible.”

They all turned to look at him. This, he told Delilah, was the moment when he should have told them what happened. Full disclosure.

“What happened to your face?” Andrea said. She inspected the place where April had scratched him. “You’re bleeding.”

He didn’t know what to say. At that moment the real story seemed grotesque and not remotely feasible. “The goddamn cherry tree in my yard,” he said. “I didn’t see the branch.”

Andrea gave him a funny look. She didn’t believe him. She thought something else had happened. She thought… what? That Tess had scratched him? Now was the time to set things straight, but Greg didn’t want to lend his encounter with April Peck any more energy than it already had. Was there a crime in that?