Her dad laid another armful on the bed, a rainbow pile of blouses. He removed a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his damp forehead, blotted at the moisture in his eyes. “Uh . . . well, I guess we’re packing up Judy’s things.”

“We?”

“Your mom asked me to.”

“Why?” Judy was gone. They couldn’t get rid of her stuff, too. Joy wouldn’t have anything left of her sister.

Fresh tears flowed. They came quickly those days.

“Your mom is having a hard time with your sister’s belongings still being here,” he explained.

They were all having a hard time. Joy especially. She wasn’t only fighting through her grief. She was living in a dark and awful place inside her mind. She’d never be the same again. She would always see herself as the girl who killed her sister.

“What are you going to do with her stuff?”

“We’ll box up some keepsakes. But the rest . . .” He swept a hollow gaze around the room. “I guess your mom will have Salvation Army pick it up. Joy?” He methodically folded the handkerchief and returned the soiled cloth to his pocket. “I know I’ve asked before, and I promise it will be the last time.” He lifted his head and looked at her.

Joy’s back prickled. She knew what he was going to ask. As he’d prefaced, he’d asked before. So had the cops and the paramedics.

“What?” Her tone was thin, defensive.

“Why wasn’t Judy wearing a seat belt? I don’t understand how she could forget. She didn’t disregard things like that.”

She didn’t. The front passenger seat didn’t have a working seat belt.

Judy had somehow managed to scoot over into the driver’s seat after Joy passed out, buckled in the back. That was where the rescue crew had found them. But they questioned why Judy’s blood stained the passenger seat and two of Joy’s upper ribs were cracked. One of the EMTs remarked that he’d seen similar cracks from the impact of an airbag. And the only airbag in the car was in the upgraded steering column.

Judy’s autopsy revealed traces of alcohol in her system. It was reasonable to assume she’d driven under the influence and neglected to buckle her belt. The cops had asked Joy, but she stuck with her made-up story. She’d been asleep. She didn’t remember Judy driving off the road.

Joy suspected they all knew the truth, the cops and the other rescuers. But as far as she knew nobody said anything to her or her parents. Maybe because it was a single-vehicle accident. No other parties were involved or injured. Her parents had lost one child. Why punish the other?

They didn’t need to. Joy lived in her own private hell.