Her yellow dress was wrinkled across the lap, and the black mascara under her left eye had smudged into a faint gray shadow.

“You actually did it,” Melissa said.

She kept her voice low, but her throat was so tight the words came out almost as a whisper.

“The police showed up at the house,” Melissa said.

“Mom was standing on the front porch holding a glass pitcher of lemonade when two officers walked up the driveway.”

I stopped three feet away from her and kept my arms folded over my middle.

“Thirty people were sitting in the backyard,” Melissa said.