The two men in overalls were standing on either side of the boy’s sister, holding one of her arms each as she struggled and begged to be released. Her father had taken the clipboard from one of them and seemed to be filling in a form that was attached to it. Her mother sat silently in the front passenger seat, saying and doing nothing, though the boy knew, even though he couldn’t see her face, that she was crying.

The two men in white overalls started to drag the boy’s sister toward the house. She continued to howl for a while. Then she went limp and quiet, as if she’d died, and allowed herself to be dragged. Perhaps she fainted. The boy hoped she was still alive. He opened his mouth to say something to his mother—he wasn’t sure what—but found that bile came out, thick and sour, instead of words. Still, his mother did and said nothing. The boy imagined climbing behind the wheel and driving away. It was too late to rescue his sister, but he could rescue his mother.

Except he couldn’t. He was a twelve-year-old boy who couldn’t really do anything.

After a few miserable empty minutes, he saw something that he didn’t understand. The two men in overalls were heading back toward the car, carrying his sobbing sister between them. His father was walking alongside them, holding the clipboard in one hand and the suitcase in the other. As they got closer, the boy’s father hurried ahead. The boy heard the sound of the trunk opening and something heavy being thrown into it. Then he heard a thud as the trunk was slammed shut, and his father appeared by the open back door of the car, minus the suitcase and the clipboard. This made no sense to the boy; the clipboard belonged to the lunatic asylum—why would his father think he could make off with it as if it were his own? Stealing was as wrong as lying, the boy and his sister had always been taught. Had their father changed his mind about that?

The two men who weren’t his father shoved the boy’s sister back into the car. She was shaking as if an electric current were ripping through her, and wiping her face with her hands. Her father produced two envelopes from his jacket pocket and handed one to each of the men. Then he got into the car and the family set off for home.

“So,” said the father to his daughter, “you begged for another chance and now you’ve got one. Are you going to lie to me again?”

“No,” she said.

“Is that a solemn promise?”

“Yes.”