“What are you talking about?” She looked up at me, puzzled.

“You know . . . you and Ryan . . .” Please don’t make me say it aloud.

Her expression was blank, confused. “Ryan? Mom, my brain hurts too much to try to figure out your hints. Just spit it out.”

“You don’t remember last night—what happened?”

“No. I don’t even know what day it is. Do I have school today?”

I rubbed her back like I used to do when she was little. “Yes, it’s Monday, but you already missed school. I’m trying to see if you recall the party at Robin and Grant’s house last night. Nothing?”

“Oh, yeah, the party. I know Ryan and I shouldn’t have been drinking, but I just wanted to try it. I had no idea I’d wake up feeling like this. Please don’t tell me I did something mortifying in front of everyone . . .”

“You did get drunk, honey. And . . .” I stopped. I couldn’t put words to the horror of seeing my daughter with Ryan on top of her. Her hollow eyes staring up at him, his hungry gaze locked on his prey. Because that’s what she was, wasn’t it? His conquest.

My fists tightened as I let the truth sink in, boiling my blood. I wanted to kill Ryan. A dozen ways to do it flashed through my mind. I shook the rage away. He was only a boy. He was Robin’s son. I needed to remember that. He was practically family. I was there at his birth. I was at his baptism. I went to his Little League games and now to his high school ones.

Ryan was the kind of kid who visited his elderly next-door neighbor because he didn’t want her to be lonely. The one who took Aria under his wing when she first started high school so that she wouldn’t get lost finding her classes. He never struck me as a typical adolescent boy, but how well did I know him, really?

“Am I grounded?” Aria pressed her fingertips to her temples. “I won’t even care if it means I can go back to sleep and make this headache stop.”

“We can talk about this another time,” I decided aloud. We would figure this out together, later. Maybe I was overreacting.

“Sorry, Mom, but I don’t feel so good—” Aria paused and looked at me pitifully. “I’m going to throw up.” She bolted up, the bedsprings squealing as the quilt clung to her halfway across the floor. A moment later I heard the bathroom door slam shut as she heaved into the toilet.