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split second that my light, my sunshine is gone.
    Darkness comes to stand at the end of the couch. We all watch a preview for a show that promises to reveal the secrets of the real Jesus.
    â€œJeezus,” Haley swears under her breath.
    I look up at her. Izzy picks up her book and starts to read. Or pretends to be reading. I notice that Haley is wearing her usual uniform: black jeans, long-sleeve black shirt under her black leather jacket. I feel the lines on my forehead crease. “Where do you think you’re going?”
    â€œOut.” She’s got enough eyeliner rimming her eyes to make her look like an exotic half-girl, half-raccoon Japanese anime character.
    â€œNo you’re not.” I keep my voice even. I don’t shout. If Ben were here, he’d bellow. I was never a yeller like him, although I’ve certainly been known to raise my voice with my daughters. Mostly out of frustration more so than anger. I haven’t, however, raised my voice to Haley since Caitlin died. What kind of mother would I be if I did, after what she’s been through?
    â€œYou can’t go out because you’re grounded,” I point out, calmly.
    â€œYou never told me I was grounded.” Her words are vicious.
    I glance at Izzy, who’s still reading, even though her show is back on. I rub my forehead. “Of course you’re grounded. You were expelled from school for drug possession.”
    â€œNot drugs . It was weed, and a couple of Percs,” she scoffs. She doesn’t make eye contact with me. She stares off into space.
    I glance at Izzy again. I didn’t tell her why Haley had been expelled. She hasn’t asked. I don’t want her to think her sister is a druggy. Izzy doesn’t understand how hard things are for Haley right now. She can’t see Haley’s pain for her own.
    I decide not to get into an argument with my daughter right now over what constitutes drugs. I still have Linda’s Percocet. In my underwear drawer, along with the marijuana. I’m not sure why. “You’re not going anywhere,” I say, still sounding calm even though a part of me wants to grab her and shake her. Or hold her down and scrub the black eye makeup off with a washcloth and some old-fashioned cold cream. Haley used to be such a pretty girl. Before she started wearing black clothes and black makeup and black nail polish last year. Before she invested in half a dozen black eye pencils.
    â€œI was going to take your car. Just for a while.” Now she’s looking at her clunky black shoes. Doc Martens. I’d bought them for her last fall.
    Izzy picks up the remote and turns the TV off, leaving us in semidarkness. “I’m going to bed,” she tells me. She kisses my cheek, gets up, and leaves the living room without glancing in her sister’s direction.
    Haley just stands there. Long enough for me to feel like I have to reiterate my point. “You’re not going anywhere, Haley. Not for a while. Not until . . .” I waver because I haven’t really thought about what we’re going to do about her. I’m too busy thinking about my other daughter turned to ashes, sitting in an urn. I don’t know how to deal with Haley’s expulsion. “Your father and I . . . need to talk.”
    She glances at me for the first time since she’s come into the living room. The look on her face, angry, defiant, makes me wonder what I’ll do if she grabs my keys from the hook by the back door and takes my car. Will I call the police? Call Ben? Or go back to my room and hope she comes back before Ben finds out she took my car?
    â€œI just want to go out for a couple of hours.” She tugs on a lock of black hair. “I miss my friends,” she says, but without emotion.
    It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if she misses Caitlin. I feel the sudden urge to get up from the couch and throw my arms around her and hug her tight.