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kind of answer my grandmother always gave, the kind that gave you room to move around in but didn’t quite offer you any peace of mind, so that the answer wound up being more work than the question had ever been in the first place. She knew there were things that could never be explained, and that people had obligations in this world. When my father got sick, she moved here from Hartford, Connecticut, and she must have left her cat behind, the one she loved so much, because Rosarie is allergic to dander. She left almost everything to take care of us, and I had to wonder how many people would be willing to do that.
    I guess if I had one good quality it would be my loyalty. I take after my grandmother that way. I had never turned my sister in no matter what she did wrong. I had found plenty of evidence in her room when I was snooping around and trying on her clothes. I’d discovered marijuana and condoms. I’d examined her birth control pills and the packets of love letters that were filled with details I didn’t understand, but I never did tell a soul. On this night I stopped off in Rosarie’s room to think things over; the truth was, I went there because my room was too childish for the sort of things I had to think about. I guess I was mad at my sister or wanted to get back at her in some way for sitting in Hannah’s, sharing a plate of French fries with a boy who was in love with her and having fun when I had to make a decision that could ruin people’s lives. I must have been angry, because before I left her room to go to bed, I locked her window so she couldn’t sneak back in.
    When she came home later, Rosarie had to climb in through the bathroom window, and in the process, she slipped in the shower and broke a bottle of her favorite bath oils. She came marching into my room, smelling like vanilla and steaming mad. She pulled my hair and called me a traitor but I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned, she could pull most of my hair right out of my head and I wouldn’t be the worse for wear. I’d probably look better bald than I did ordinarily.
    â€œYou’re going to pay for what you did,” Rosarie told me, and I was afraid she was right.
    That next week I had a terrible feeling in my stomach. I wouldn’t go over to Collie’s. kept telling him I had headaches, the way my sister did, and I kept a cold compress on my forehead whenever he came over to watch TV Instead of paying attention to any of the programs we tuned in to, I was mostly keeping an eye on him, thinking about how good he was and how hed never hurt anyone and how he always expected the best from everyone. After a while. seeing his father’s picture on TV felt like a dream, and climbing out my sister’s window to call in and report him seemed as though it had happened to someone else entirely. I was starting to forget the whole thing. It’s amazing what you can block out when you really try. Although some things stay with you no matter what; they affect everything that you do. My mother, for instance, no longer parked her car in the garage. She wouldn’t even open the door. Squirrels could be nesting there, the roof could be falling in, and she still wouldn’t go near. Some things you carry around inside you as though they were part of your blood and bones, and when that happens, there’s nothing you can do to forget.
    One day we got off the school bus on the corner of Maple and Sherwood Streets and I knew something terrible had happened, only this time to Collie. It was a hot day. and Collie and I had done our homework on the bus so we’d be free. It was the last week of school, and the day was as hot as August, with the sky a shimmering blue and the leaves turning dusty the way they did in the heat and so many birds singing you could hardly hear yourself think over their calling. knew something was wrong because the Fords’ front door was open, and they never went