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stood there for a minute, debating whether or not to knock. It was too quiet; something was wrong, besides Betty. Was that Mom crying? Why would she want to cry?
    I didn’t knock. I just crept downstairs to Gwen. She was sitting at the kitchen table eating directly out of the container of Heavenly Hash with a serving spoon.
    What was happening to our family?
    ‘Does she want any?’
    I shook my head and sat down across from her.
    ‘Good.’ She licked the spoon.
    I had always felt joined to Mom and Dad by an invisible cord. Ours had been a happy home, full of humor and sharing and learning and quality time before everyone else’s parents both worked and they had to invent the phrase. We invented it. Mom and Dad were always dashing around in suits, with their fat briefcases, throwing me kisses on the run. I never felt neglected. Until Grove, until now.
    Where had Dad gone?
    ‘Hey, Kate,’ Gwen said. ‘I’m sorry you feel so bad. But like I told you, they sent you away for a reason.’
    ‘What is it?’
    She shrugged. ‘I dunno.’
    ‘I swear, they never acted like this before.’
    ‘Yeah, tell me about it.’ She leaned forward and grinned. ‘Let’s take a walk.’
    ‘I don’t feel like it.’
    ‘You will.’
    I didn’t know what was on her mind, and I didn’t much care. I felt so down all of a sudden, like a blind girl in the wrong house without her cane. So I let Gwen lead me outside. It was chilly and dark. There were no lights on our street, just big, sulky houses with blinking yellow windows. It was quiet and peaceful. We walked around the bend, out of sight of our house.
    ‘Shh, just look at this,’ Gwen whispered. She dug into her back pocket and withdrew the fat white joint she had showed me the first time we met. ‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Okay? Now?’
    I didn’t know. I felt so down, I wanted to join that dark-cave club — any club — and not feel alone. I didn’tknow what grass would do to me, which is why I’d never smoked it before. The crazy thing was that now I didn’t care.
    So we smoked. We sat behind a bush in a neighbor’s yard, and puffed away at our bitter weed. In no time, we were stupid. Then, when the high lifted us, everything seemed hilarious and we thought we were just about the funniest people alive. Then we had to eat, and it had to be something sugary, so we went home and stuffed ourselves on ice cream, raisins and cinnamon toast — whatever we could find. After, we went to the living room and lay head-to-foot on the couch and passed out, as they say in the trade.
    Next thing I knew, it was morning. I sort of enjoyed the weird, hungover, cotton-brained feeling when I woke up at around ten o’clock. I remembered Dad sneaking in very late — or early — and felt wise and bitter and scared and revenged. Getting stoned was getting back. Mom and Dad were pulling off into their secret worlds, so I pulled off into mine.
    Gwen made coffee while I made eggs, sausages and toast. I put the radio on loud, hoping the music would wake them. I was raring for a fight. Every few minutes, I raised the volume a little more. After a while, Dad came down. He was wearing his old blue bathrobe that Mom and I had given him one Father’s Day, and a pair of worn leather mocassins. He yawned, stretched and crumpled onto a chair.
    ‘Didn’t get much sleep,’ he said.
    I poked the sausages and they sizzled.
    ‘Coffee, Mr Steiner?’ Gwen lifted the pot as if he needed a visual aid to stimulate his imagination.
    ‘Yes, please.’
    I gave her a mug and she poured. She was setting it down in front of him when Mom came in. She looked pretty in her ruby-red robe, with her long hair messy down her back like tangled vines. Her eyes looked watery and small, as if they stung.
    ‘Morning, Mom!’ I said.
    ‘Morning.’ She patted my waist on her way to the coffee pot.
    ‘Have a seat,’ Gwen said. ‘I’m here to serve you.’
    Dad chuckled, and Mom shot him a sharp look that stunned us all into