Michael looks bemused. I guess he’s not used to being addressed directly by sixteen-year-old girls, particularly ones dressed in pajamas decorated with tiny llamas crossed with unicorns, that have the commandment Be a Llamacorn! written in script across the chest.

“I’m here as part advisor, part therapist, part—”

“Oh crap. Are you the priest that Paloma wanted to hire?” Isla asks. “You should know, she’s only using you for reputation rehabilitation and social media exposure. We’re all atheists in this family, though Chloe leans agnostic.”

“Isla, listen to the man,” my dad says. Usually my father puffs up when Isla shows off her smarts, and it would be my mother who’d get annoyed by the interruption, but today my mom sits next to me on the couch, quiet and subdued. She smells of that potent cocktail of Xanax and defeat.

My dad, on the other hand, looks like he’s had twenty gallons of coffee and needs to pee. He wipes his sweaty forehead with a paper towel. He has opted out of his suit jacket for this one, instead wearing a deep blue linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Instead of using the app on his phone, he gets up to lower the temperature on the Nest and then sits back down.

“I’m not a priest. Far from it, I’m afraid. I’m actually a prison consultant.”

Isla laughs out loud when he says this, long and hard, and I glare at her to stop.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize that was a thing. You and your love of consultants. Did Aunt Candy recommend him too?” Isla’s voice is thick with scorn and sarcasm. She looks at my parents, and they both look at the ground, unwilling to meet her eyes. She’s no longer trying to control her anger, or even keep it on a tight simmer. Somehow we knuckleheads have managed to outsmart her and bring her right down with us.

Michael clears his throat and gets started.

“So to more fully answer your question: Who am I? Ten years ago, I went to a minimum-security federal penitentiary for embezzlement and tax evasion. At the time, I thought my life as I knew it was over, and in some ways I was right. It was. But, and I realize how this is going to sound, prison was also the best thing that ever happened to me,” Michael says.

“Are you going to try to get my mom to plead guilty? If so, I’m here for it,” Isla says.