Merit was on his phone, which seemed like a potentially unsafe choice since his mother was clearly on the warpath. But from what I could tell from my glimpses in the rearview mirror, Merit didn’t seem particularly contrite. He just sat there texting, while Iris watched him, clearly trying to catch his eye. She was trying to get her story straight, that was for sure. But what did Iris have to do with any of this? I wanted to ask. Or maybe just turn on the radio. But Grace’s face was stone-cold, staring straight ahead, and even though I knew she wasn’t mad at me, I didn’t want to poke the bear.

She got out of the car and stalked up the stairs. We trailed in after her, and she closed the door and locked it behind us, which was unsettling. “Sit down,” Grace said. “All of you.”

“Me too?” I squeaked.

“Yes. I need moral mom support.”

Iris and Merit sat down in their normal seats at the dining room table. Grace and I sat across from them. Grace crossed her arms on the table and sighed. “Merit, on the way home, I was thinking about how you really are a model son. You make great grades and you’re a star athlete, and I know that you go to great lengths to not cause me extra grief or trouble. I know that. I understand that you cannot be perfect all the time. But please tell me why you felt that punching a judge in the face was a good way to rebel.”

Merit seemed pale. And it interested me that Grace said he went to great lengths to be a model son. That was a good quality, of course. But the statement seemed to run deeper than that.

“It was my fault!” Iris interrupted before Merit could speak.

“Great,” I said under my breath. I reminded myself that she was going through so much. I reminded myself that, as the way she’d climbed into bed with me last week proved, so much of her was still just a soft, sweet, scared little girl.

Grace smiled. “Iris, sweetheart, I appreciate that. I do. But Merit doesn’t need you to take up for him.” She looked at her son again.

“No, Grace, I mean it,” Iris said. “The judge was saying that Dad was guilty and that if I didn’t believe that I was dumb. Or I looked dumb, or—”

“You were even dumber than you looked,” Merit said.

“Well, thank you,” Iris said, smirking. “What a helpful time to chime in.”

My face was getting hot, and I could feel my heart pounding. “I’m sorry. He said that to you?”

“He was just drunk, Mom. He apologized.”