“Oh my God,” Betsy yelled. “You would be out here like a freak. Leave me alone.”

“You smell like smoke. Where have you been?”

“I told Dad I had a bonfire tonight. You can’t keep treating me like I’m a child. I’m eighteen. Besides, if you had taken the time to have an actual conversation with Dad, he could have told you where I was.” Betsy backed away, heading toward the outside stairs, trying to escape to her room to get away from me, her mother: the person who gave birth to her, the person who gave her life.

“Who were you with? I want to know your friends.” The fact was Betsy never brought her friends home. I knew all of Mary’s high school friends, for years, and they all seemed to like me. Some of the boys liked talking to me more than they did Mary. But with Betsy, I only knew Amy, from middle school. After Amy moved away, Betsy didn’t bring anyone else home, no matter how often I pushed to meet her “group.”

Mary had told me when she was a senior, and Betsy was a junior, that Betsy was in a totally different crowd. Mom, we don’t overlap friends, not at all. I can’t really tell you more. That’s why I had to surprise her in the courtyard. I have to catch her when I can. She’s sneaky, my Betsy.

Last week in the courtyard, Betsy wasn’t just sneaky, she was mean. Her voice was cold, firm. “Your snooping is freaking me out. You need to cool it. I’m going to bed—don’t follow me.”

“Don’t you dare walk away from me, young lady!” I had yelled. Too loud. We’re all too close together here at The Cove. I can’t believe I raised my voice.

David stepped through the door from the garage at that moment. Mortified by my outburst.

“Jane, honestly. I heard you from inside the garage. What will the neighbors think?” He was mad at me, not worried about what Betsy had said or done. David still cares about the neighbors, still has friends in the neighborhood. Clients, too.

Betsy saw her chance for an exit. “Welcome home, Dad. Good night.” She smiled as he walked to her side.

“Good night, honey.” They hugged and she was gone.

I am very tired of this treatment. Instead of backing me up, supporting my good parenting, David had walked past me into the house, leaving me alone in the courtyard staring up at the stars piercing through the night sky like laser beams. Just then one of the palm trees in our courtyard shed its hull, something that happens at least once a year. The heavy wooden canoe-shaped beast landed with a bang a foot away from where I’d been sitting. I could have died.