“Come to my car,” I said, grabbing Caroline’s shoulder and pointing toward my station wagon parked near the curb. “We are not doing this on the street.”

I unlocked the doors, and we all piled inside, escaping the downpour.

I sat in the driver’s seat, Caroline sat in the passenger side, and Rebecca climbed into the back.

Thomas stood outside on the asphalt, slamming his hand against the glass of the passenger window.

“Caroline, open the door!” he yelled, his face distorted by the rain running down the windowpane. “She’s lying to you!”

I turned the key in the ignition, shifted into drive, and pulled away from the curb, leaving my son standing in the wet parking lot.

I drove in silence for three blocks until I found the quiet, empty lot of an old brick church.

I parked under the shelter of a massive oak tree and turned off the engine.

The only sound was the steady patter of rain on the metal roof.

“Tell us,” I said, turning around in my seat to look at Rebecca in the back.