The base of my skull has begun to throb. Leaning forward, I squeeze my neck as tightly as I can with my right hand. “Imagine twelve people, most of whom have about a fourth of your scientific knowledge. A lot can depend on who takes control of that jury once they begin deliberations.”

Seeing worry in my sister’s eyes, I reach out and squeeze her shoulder. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate. It’s an old defense against getting overconfident. Most people are going to believe Dad did just what he said: pushed that needle through her vein and walked out of there with her alive.”

Jenny gets up and walks around the table, then looks down into my eyes. “You’re still not telling me everything. Something’s worrying you.”

She knows me better than I thought. “Only this. If Dad didn’t inject that adrenaline, who did? You see? That jury would have a lot easier time if there was a big fat suspect sitting up there for them to pin it on in their minds.”

“What about Snake Knox?”

“You’re right, I’m sure.”

Mom flushing the toilet upstairs sends water rushing through the pipes in the kitchen wall.

“Tell me something, Penn, before Mom gets down.”

“What?”

“Did you believe Daddy’s story?”

I hesitate, but then to my surprise I speak my mind. “Not a hundred percent, no.”

Jenny’s eyes flash. “Why not?”

“I just . . . I don’t think he’s lied much in his life. But when he talked about the injection, his tone reminded me of something.”

“What?”

“Something from my childhood.”

“A time he lied to you?” she asks.

“I think so.”

Jenny closes her eyes, then reaches out and threads her fingers into mine. For a few seconds, I sense she’s going to confide something to me. But then she says, “I’m praying it’s going to come out all right.”

I have no response to this.

“I’m going to run to the restroom myself,” she says. “I’ll see you in a sec.”

After finishing off the remainder of my lasagna, I walk to the half bath at the back of the house to piss, but the door opens and Jenny walks out with her hands in her hair, trying to pin it up. She’s got a bobby pin in her mouth, and for a moment I’m thrown back to my childhood, when she was the cool teenager in our house and I the goofy little brother. Smiling, I reach out to pat her arm as I pass, but instead she grabs my hand and pulls me to a stop, her eyes deeply troubled.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Penn, I saw something.”

“When? What are you talking about?”

“A long time ago. When I was fifteen. I was riding a bicycle downtown with one of my friends, Tracy Moon. Do you remember Tracy?”

“What did you see, Jenny?”