On the drive down to Allentown, the rain needled across the windshield in silver lines while the headlights smeared on the wet asphalt.

By the time I turned onto my parents’ street, the neighborhood looked exactly as it always had with trim lawns and porch lights glowing with an amber hue.

I parked at the curb and watched my mother through the front window as she moved briskly through the dining room, straightening things that were already straight.

When I stepped onto the porch, I smelled rosemary and roasting meat along with the sharp and clean scent of furniture polish.

Mom opened the door before I could even knock, looking me up and down once before stepping aside to let me in.

“Well, at least you listened for once,” she said, and the way she said it made something cold slip into place inside my chest.

I walked in anyway, not knowing that by the end of the night, a federal judge would look at me and crack open every lie my family had built.

Cade came around the corner grinning with a wineglass in his hand and told me to try not to make things weird for once in my life.