Parker could ask my mother a million questions, but I had a better shot of knowing if she was telling the truth. And maybe, just maybe, she’d be honest with me. If she’d been the one to throw that brick, if she were truly that angry, I didn’t think she’d be able to hide that kind of rage—not if we came face-to-face.

I was tired of hiding. Of feeling scared. And no one, especially my mother, was going to hurt my siblings. They’d been through enough. This new game, it had to stop. Now.

In a blink, we were docking at Shelter Island. My hands tightened on my steering wheel as I waited for my turn to disembark. By the time I was driving down the ferry ramp, my palms were damp, and my stomach seemed to have twisted itself into an intricate knot.

I didn’t need a map to find my way to the trailer park. My parents used to take us there as kids when friends of theirs had barbeques. I tried to see those memories through a new lens. Had they been using already? Dealing? I still couldn’t picture it. All I could remember was being told to leave the grown-ups alone and not get into trouble.

I drove through town. Past the quaint business district, through the picturesque neighborhoods where houses boasted freshly potted flowers and pristine lawns. Soon, the landscape became slightly more rural and finally, I caught sight of a shabby sign marking the turnoff.

I pulled into the park. The trailers were close together, the yards, if you could call them that, small. Some looked nice as if the owners took pride in their surroundings. I respected the hell out of the owners of those trailers. I knew what it was to make the best out of what you had. How hard it was to stretch that dollar. Putting in back-breaking work on your home after working a long day.

But most of the trailers looked as if they had given up. Or at least the people inside them had. I stopped in front of the manager’s office. As I climbed out of my SUV, a skull-splitting mixture of music assaulted me. Today, it sounded like a country fan was going head-to-head with a hard-rock groupie, trying to see who could get their stereo louder.

I pulled open the screen door. Holes dotted the mesh, and the paint was peeling in places. A woman sat behind a counter. No, she reclined. Her desk chair leaned so far back, it looked as if she were seconds away from toppling backwards.