She was evading the question. She wasn’t going to tell us, and there could only be one reason. He was going. The camps Ellen and Beatrice were suddenly allowed to go to gave her the space to do this, to have freedom away from us with her boyfriend, and it made me angry. I wanted to demolish her lies. We all knew what she wasn’t saying. Beatrice started looping her hair; Ellen stared at the pattern on the tablecloth.

“I’ll go with you too.”

“You know that’s not possible.” My mom looked tired. She fiddled with the label at the end of her tea bag, preoccupied and worried, and I felt miserable. It’s true, I thought. I don’t care about her happiness. I get in its way.

“Please, Libby.” It was Ellen. She was siding with Mom? I turned to snap back at her and saw her face. She had the chance to be away from here and Barbie Man, and I was threatening it. It wasn’t just about the art camp. She’d barely left the house the past four weeks. She was afraid. Being away would solve the problem. For me too. I wouldn’t have to worry every minute. She’d be safe. I was blowing it. I had to back down.

I sat next to Beatrice at the table. “I have to babysit anyway. Camp in the mountains sounds great. When’s everyone going?”

“Next Saturday,” said Mom. “Early.”

“But the bike parade. Ellen’s made Beatrice an outfit.”

“I’m sorry. They can’t. I’m dropping Ellen first at the Gambinos’, and then we have the drive to North Carolina, which could be at least nine or ten hours.”

The parade didn’t start until midday. There was no choice. Ellen was getting art camp, Beatrice was heading off to overnight camp, where she would share a cabin with other girls and spend days canoeing and horseback riding and having campfires, telling stories. This was good and the costumes didn’t matter and my mom was trying to do something, giving Ellen the camp and trying to make up with her, whatever her other reasons.

“Ellen,” I said, “I thought of something. We could give the costume you made to Peter Boucher. He loves Dr. Seuss.”

“Really?” She thought about it for a moment. “The face paints are important, though, for it all to look right. Paint his face with the white face paint first, and then for the cheeks I was going to do the American flag inside heart shapes.”

“That’s a great idea.” Mom looked grateful.

“Yeah, well, I’ll ask Mrs. Boucher first. I don’t even know if they’re doing the parade.”

Everything settled, as if the room had taken a deep breath and exhaled. We were all calm again.