Of course, right about then, the storm died down. But even so, the walk home was unbearable. I almost would have welcomed thunder to drown out the silence. Nobody spoke as we left the house and trudged in the rain, slipping down the hill and then along the creek, following my dad and the sharp white beam of his flashlight. Jasper was behind me, gasping each time she tripped over something. Then we were out on the road, and we moved more quickly, though I was in no hurry to get home. I couldn’t imagine what was about to happen. I couldn’t even begin to guess.

At last we reached the house, where Mom was waiting for us on the porch, clutching a stack of soft dry towels. Dad went straight in the front door without even a word.

I looked up at the porch light. “The power’s back on?” I said.

“Take your clothes off,” Mom snapped in a neat, curt voice. As though she’d been rehearsing. She set the towels on the ground.

“Here?” I said. “No!”

“You will do as I say, Leah,” she snapped. “You’re covered in mud and soaked to the bone, and . . . is that glass in your hair?”

I nodded.

“Do it,” she said. Then she turned and went inside.

I looked at Jasper. “I didn’t tell them, I swear. He must have heard me, and followed. . . .”

But she just shook her head at me and turned away, raised her nightgown over her head. I turned around and did the same. Then I grabbed for one of the towels and wrapped it around myself. Silently, we walked into the living room, where Dad and Mom were waiting for us. Dad stood tall, with his arms crossed in front of him. His wet hair stood straight up, and he had changed into sweats and his threadbare blue robe. Mom was sitting in her old chair, rocking faintly, nervously.

Jasper glanced at me, as if waiting to see what I’d do, so I went first—across the room. I sat on the sofa. A moment later, she joined me. Then for a while, we all just stared at each other.

At last, Mom stopped rocking and leaned forward. Her voice was surprisingly calm and kind when she asked, “What’s going on here, girls?”

Jasper looked to me again. It was her story to tell, but her eyes were narrow slits, and they were my parents. I turned back to my mom. “It’s hard to explain,” I said. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Try,” said Mom. “Try the truth.”

My father cleared his throat. “They were in a vacant house, Rachel. Over near Red’s Farm, back in the brambles. They had it set up like a playhouse. With a bed and everything.”

My mom looked at me. “What?”

“It’s nothing bad. We just had a hideout,” I said. “A place of our own.”