Troy has forgotten what a difficult teenager Tara was, or maybe just forgiven her. Troy and I were just starting law school when Mom called late one night. It was three a.m. in Ann Arbor. “I don’t know where your sister is,” she said without even saying hello or asking how I was. “I’ve been frantic. I’ve called her cell a hundred times and it goes to voice mail. Texted over and over and over. I’m standing by the front door, looking out the window at every car that passes, hoping it’ll stop and she’ll get out.”

“She’s probably just at a party, hanging out with her friends.”

“Probably getting high or drunk.” Mom finished my thought. “I tell myself that, but I can’t stop thinking about all the terrible things that could happen: She could have run away, or be in a car accident, in some hospital. Or worse. Dead. She could be drunk at a fraternity party. What if she gets gang raped.”

“You know Tara. This is just Tara being Tara.” I heard Mom’s quick intake of air.

“She does what she wants with no concern for anyone but herself. Just like her father. Like he’s come back to haunt me.”

I didn’t know what to say. But part of me was smugly pleased when Mom criticized Tara or her father.

“She’s never been out this late without calling, even if it’s with some lame excuse.”

“Mom. She’s probably just partying.”

But Mom couldn’t stop. “I tell her, ‘Call and let me know where you are, that you’re okay. You have a cell phone,’ but she doesn’t even do that.”

And then Tara walked in the door. “Mom. What are you doing up?” I heard her ask.

“Where the hell were you?”

“With friends!”

“I was worried.” Mom stretched out “worried” so that Tara could sense her anxiety.

“I was fine.” I could almost see Tara shrug.

“Why didn’t you call?”

“I’m out of minutes, Mom. Why didn’t you pay attention to my bill?”

Tara’s voice was crisp. She wasn’t screaming or angry. She was indifferent. That was it. A chilling indifference.

“I’m tired. Think I’ll go to bed,” Tara’s voice got softer as she walked away from Mom.

“Well, she’s home,” Mom said to me.

“I heard.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“She’s just being a kid,” Troy said that night, learning against the headboard reading a syllabus. “Tara works hard on her music. A nerd with a wild streak. She’ll be okay. You watch.”