She ripped the box open. “I have to know now.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Jo smiled crookedly. “I can pee by myself,” she said in a fair imitation of Daisy. She grabbed a wrapped stick and marched with it into the downstairs powder room.

I remembered taking my pregnancy test, getting up extra early so John would be home to share the results. The anticipation. Our joy when those two little lines appeared.

My poor sister. She’d been in the bathroom a long time. I glanced at the clock. Longer than three minutes.

The back door opened and John walked in, bringing the twins and the cold air with him. And the dog. And . . .

“Trey!” I said, dismayed.

“Hey, Meg. Happy New Year.” He bent to kiss my cheek, smelling of the outdoors and deodorant and rather pleasantly of sweat.

I looked over his shoulder at John, who had the grace to look a little shame-faced. “He was running in the park. I asked him back for a beer. Not for dinner,” he added.

“Unless you want to invite me,” Trey said.

“Of course, you . . . That is, I . . .” I kneeled, hiding my confusion by helping DJ out of his coat.

“Do I smell corn bread?” Trey asked.

“Corn bread, yes. In the oven.” I busied myself with Daisy’s zipper. “Jo made it.”

“Meg.” John was staring at the kitchen island, the open drugstore bag, the distinctive pink box with the top ripped off. “What’s this?”

It was obvious. Even if he didn’t remember the box, the lettering was clearly visible on the side: First Response Early Result Pregnancy Test.

“What?” Trey looked. “Are you . . . Oh, hey. Congratulations.”

No. Oh no.

I smiled weakly at John. “Everything’s fine. I’m fine. I’m not pregnant.”

“Two lines.” Jo burst out of the bathroom, clutching a pee stick. “Look! Should I do the other one now or . . .” She stopped abruptly. “Shit.”

Trey’s face went white. “Jo?”

Jo’s face went red. “Trey!”

“What’s going on?” John asked.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Trey said.

I stood. “Trey, we love you, but Jo and I really need to talk. Why don’t you, uh . . .”

“Let’s get that beer now,” John said, taking his arm.

Trey shook him off. “Jo?” he repeated.

Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I don’t . . . I can’t . . . Not now,” she said in a constricted voice. “I’m sorry.”

Something flashed across Trey’s face and was gone. He looked at John. “Got anything stronger?”

John nodded. “Right this way. Come on, kids.”

He herded them all out of the kitchen, and Jo lurched forward into my arms.

“Ssh. It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right,” I murmured, as if she were no older than the twins. As if this was nothing more serious than a scraped knee or bruised feelings, something I could kiss and make better. Her breath shuddered, in and out. “Whatever happens, we have each other.” I petted her hair the way Momma used to do, her new, short curls springing back against my touch. “What are you going to do?” I asked after a while.