Mercedes buckles her helmet and climbs on her bike. But before she leaves, she turns and locks her eyes on mine. “Just because you’ve never heard a story before doesn’t make it any less true.”

As I coast down the hill from Laurel Park, I’m determined to ask my mom about everything Mercedes told me. I imagine what I’ll say. I’ll demand to know the truth. I might cry. My mom will tell me everything she knows. She has to. But after I put my bike away, I open the door and hear Kenny yelling, “You’re not my mom!”

“Kenneth,” Bob says in a stern, deep voice.

“She can’t tell me what to do!”

I stay in the entryway, out of view of the living room. I hear Bob say, “Val may not be your mom—”

“Our mom died!” Kenny shouts. Usually it’s Lucas shouting. Kenny is the quiet one. “You’re not our mom!”

Now Lucas starts to cry.

Bob cuts them both off. “Yes, Mama is gone, but Val loves us. She’s not trying to replace Mama, but she’s here to help take care of you. And we all agree you need a shower, young man.”

I shake my head. All this yelling over a shower?

Kenny starts whining again, but Bob interrupts him. “You’re ten years old—old enough to know better, Kenny. Go take a shower.”

Lucas stops crying long enough to shout proudly, “I had a bath already!”

There’s no point in waiting any longer. I walk into the living room just in time to watch Kenny sulk toward the bathroom and Lucas dive-bomb his dad, who’s on the couch next to my mom. “I’m clean! Smell me!” Lucas hollers. My mom’s cup of tea spills on her lap and on his clean pajamas, and his tears begin all over again.

“How was the park?” she asks over the crying. She holds the dripping cup, sounding worn out, even though she’s supposed to be a happy newlywed.

“He’s tired,” Bob says, as if we needed that explanation.

I feel like I’m interrupting the family evening, like this isn’t my story.

“You still okay with helping Kenny with math? After his shower? And after he’s calmed down?” She smiles weakly. “I tried to help with fractions, but you know my math skills.”

“I know,” I say.

“Bob’s even worse.”

“I can help.”

We watch Bob carry a screaming Lucas off to bed.