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My father might have gotten into trouble at New Hope. He might have messed up. I don’t actually believe he assaulted someone, like Larabeth said, but as time goes on, I’ve come to accept that something must have happened.

That was enough to contend with on its own. Now I’ve got to manage my shock about Faith.

As angry as I was when Kappy brought it up, it only takes a matter of hours for me to accept that she was right. She has to be—the hair color, the eye color, the dimple, the tongue thing? There are too many coincidences. My mom not looking pregnant, the sudden “miracle” of Faith’s homecoming, and even the way they dote on Faith—is it out of love, or is it out of the knowledge that they took her from her real mother?

I’m sure they did it for a good reason. They wouldn’t want Faith to know the circumstances of her birth, and if Mary Joyce was mentally ill, they wouldn’t want that fact to taint Faith’s chances of finding a husband.

But what I don’t understand, if all that is true, is why Mary Joyce’s parents didn’t raise her instead. And why they left just as Faith—their granddaughter—came home and have never spoken to any of us since.

KAPPY

You hate me, don’t you?

ME

I could never hate you.

I should have kept my suspicions to myself.

No. I’m just kind of dumbfounded that I never suspected it.

You could test it, if you wanted. Test her DNA and yours and see what it says.

What would be the point? If Faith isn’t my sister, it’s not as if I’d tell anyone.

It’s leverage.

Why would I need leverage?

You know your parents better than I do. Where might you need leverage?

I sit back against my headboard. It’s almost impossible to imagine that I’d threaten my parents in any way, that they’d ever believe me if I said, “I know Faith is Mary Joyce’s kid, and I’m going to tell everyone.” They’d shun me if I did. Also, what if it wasn’t entirely legal? What if the state took Faith into foster care while it was being sorted? What if they took her away?

I dismiss the idea.

But when my father speaks over my mother at dinner and complains that she used a store-bought sauce, the word leverage starts repeating in my head.

25

“Ineed you home straight after school for the rest of the week,” my mother warns on Tuesday. “We have company coming.”

I should have known something was up when she had me pull the refrigerator away from the wall to clean behind it.

“Company?” I repeat. I’m unable to hide the dread in my voice. First, because I was supposed to go to the lake with Ford tomorrow. I also don’t want all the extra scrutiny from a Bright Covenant member, one who’ll point out how very not Bright Covenant we now dress and act. The changes have been subtle over time, but I can see it even in my mom —we almost fit in.

“Tommy Wells will be staying with us,” she says. “He just finished his mission trip. He’s been home for the past few weeks and is stopping by on his way back to Bolivia.”

I vaguely remember Tommy—his father was one of the most senior members of our community and a big friend of my dad’s, and all the girls had a crush on him, though he always seemed far older than us.

“Why does he have to go back?” I ask.

I can tell I’m straining her patience, though my question is entirely reasonable. “He doesn’t have to go. Attending the mission trip is a privilege, Grace. He’s been chosen to remain there for another year to supervise the incoming class.”

It’s what people do, sometimes, when they haven’t found a spouse. But I always assumed they’d stayed by choice. Saying that he was chosen makes it sound as if the decision wasn’t his.

I thought I could stand two years, perhaps, while I figured things out. But three? No. It’s too much.

I’m not sure how I’ll even stand to be away from Ford for a week, but I guess that part’s coming whether I want it or not. He’d never be able to admit we were together, even if I could, and he’s clearly not eager for that outcome anyway, given that we apparently aren’t even dating.