When I’m done, my mother comes over to inspect my work, because god forbid I did it wrong. My shoulders tense as I wait for whatever criticism she comes up with, but she gives me a small nod and a pat on the shoulder, and I guess that means I’m dismissed until dinner is ready. I sprint out of the kitchen and up to the relative safety of my bedroom.

—

The safety is temporary, of course. Two hours later I’m back downstairs, sitting at the dining room table with my family, wishing I had the ability to speed up time so this could all be over and I could be back in my room.

“How’s school going?” My mom passes the salad to Gwen, asking the question like she thinks she can trick us into believing she cares about the answer. If she really cared, maybe she would spend more than three evenings a month at home.

“It’s great!” Gwen is practically drooling on the table from the attention. “My history teacher told me today that my term paper from last semester was one of his favorites…and I’m thinking about trying out for cheerleading next year!” I shoot her a glare when I hear that. “Also Emery Lambert invited me to her birthday party next week, which is so cool because she’s never spoken to me before, so I obviously have to go.” She pauses to take a breath, and my mom cuts in.

“That’s great, Gwen.” She turns away before Gwen can say more, and Gwenie’s face drops. I try to catch her eye, but she’s staring down at her plate like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. My dad is silent at the other end of the table.

“What’s happening at school for you these days?” My mother turns her attention to me, but I ignore her. I’m still trying to get Gwen to smile, or at least meet my eyes. “Zach. Hello? I asked you a question.”

I finally turn toward her. “Why are you even here?”

I’ve caught her off guard, and she tilts her head back for a beat. “Excuse me?”

“I said, why are you here?”

She looks around the table, at my sister and my father. “I live here.”

“Could have fooled me.” I stab at a piece of meat on my plate so hard that the table shakes.

She clears her throat and gives me a tight, fake smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I know I haven’t been around much….This case has been ramping up, and—”

I cut her off. I don’t want to hear her lame excuses. “I don’t think you get it. You can’t just show up here whenever it suits you and think things are going to be normal.”