“How many times has she been in my house while I was at work?”

There was a scuffle on the line, and then a different voice — my sister’s.

And Danielle did not sound guilty.

That is the thing I have never quite gotten over.

She sounded smug.

She would not give me a straight answer.

She only said, with something almost like satisfaction, “This wasn’t the first time, Maren.”

I looked in the rearview mirror at Fiona, fully awake now, clutching her stuffed elephant to her chest, watching me.