“They’re coming up with donation bags,” Mom told him. She tried to sound dry, suspicious even, to temper her obvious happiness, but it was clear she felt pride. So much of it that regret started churning in my gut.

Dad examined Aidy first, then me. I took an instinctive step back, afraid he’d see beneath the makeup on my face. “Be sure to put them out front.” The peculiar emphasis crawled out of his mouth as a threat.

“Hon, I was gonna throw a pizza in, if that works for you,” Mom said to him. She leaned her head on his shoulder to spread more warmth our way. She seemed to believe she’d somehow law-of-attractioned this harmony into her life. “Unless you wanted to get dinner together? We haven’t done that in a while.”

He gave us a curious look. “Without the girls?”

“I was thinking all four of us.”

“Let’s do a date night instead.” Dad turned to Aidy and me. “What’s a few more hours without Mom and me here?”

Mom smiled. It wasn’t belief. She saw all of this as proof that through sheer intention alone, all trouble within our family had been fixed. “Let me throw on something nicer!” she said as she flitted out of the kitchen.

Aidy and I moved to stand side by side. As plagued as we were by secrets, we still united against the unknown that was Dad’s mood, which added more regret to the flooding pool at the bottom of my stomach.

Once Mom was out of earshot, Dad spoke. “I found something in the backyard.” He stepped closer. “A bag of filthy clothes. Ring any bells?”

My jaw clenched so hard it felt like my teeth might break. I was waiting for Aidy to rat me out. This was my fault. Surely she wouldn’t let our dad believe anything different.

“The shirt had blood on it,” Dad continued. “Someone needs to explain to me why that is.”

It never took more than a few threatening sentences for Aidy to toss me under the bus. When I caught sight of her in my peripheral vision, she looked as tight-lipped as me.

“We’ll wash it,” I blurted out. Aidy’s solidarity surprised me so much I couldn’t stop myself from redirecting the whole conversation. There was no telling how long I had before she changed her mind and admitted everything.

“You’re not understanding me,” Dad said. “Is anyone hurt?”

Ah. Bloody clothes. Our stubborn resistance. As if another one of our friends had dropped dead, and we’d decided the first go-round was such a mess, it was better to keep it to ourselves this time.

“No,” I said, making hard eye contact, daring him to notice the bruises I’d concealed.