“You won’t be alone. Aidy will be going with you,” Mom added.

“What?” Aidy and I both asked in unison. Aidy held a near-exempt status herself. The punishments she received never extended beyond stern words and restricted computer use, and now that she was a collegiate nineteen-year-old, I assumed her days of being reprimanded were nothing but a memory.

“For one, you left the memorial with the keys to our car in your purse. Not only that, but on our unexpected little walk home, Dad and I saw you and Harrison pedaling down Albany on bikes we told you were never to be used again.”

“You can’t be serious. I was fourteen when you said that!” Aidy protested.

“Aidy, you are in no place to argue with us,” Mom said. The edge in her voice meant there was a story, some trouble I hadn’t yet heard about. “The both of you made us look like bad parents in front of the entire town.”

“Mom, I didn’t do anything! I went and found Olivia, and I’m somehow in trouble for that?” Aidy could not hide her disdain for me. We’d been told for years that when we got older, we’d not only love each other, but like each other. Judging by the angry glare she hurled at me, we were still waiting to find that bridge, much less cross it.

Part of me hoped she’d keep digging her own little hole with Mom and Dad. It used to be me that made it worse. I could never stop myself from yelling about how unfair they were being. I was always the first to cry, which they assumed made me the guiltiest. Aidy once broke four bowls at once—I had no idea how—and I had to mow people’s lawns for two weeks to pay for the damage, all because when asked if I did it, I protested so much that snot bubbles formed in my nose from crying.

Carrying Marley made me calmer. There were more important things to fight about. More effective ways to handle myself. At the same time, Aidy was right. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Not on purpose, at least.

“She was helping me with something,” I said in her defense.

Mom let out a sigh so long and steady, it almost sounded melodic. She rolled her head toward my dad, her neck muscles straining.

Dad took this as his cue to reenter the conversation. “Girls, when you’re under our roof, you play by our rules. No cell phones for a week. Aidy, your iPad is mine. Olivia, you’re not to use the house laptop. Neither of you are to leave here while we’re at work, and you need to check in with us from the house phone every two hours.”

“Come on!” Aidy shrieked.

“Every hour,” Dad countered, even though he knew it wouldn’t stick.

“Is that all?” I asked.