The first clue something isn’t right is the missing car as I pull into the driveway. My step-mother isn’t home and she should be. As an overnight worker, she’s usually here when I get home from class. Most of the time, she’s already in bed, but sometimes, when she has the next day off, she’s perched at the kitchen counter, struggling to stay awake, as her and my dad chat. The second clue that something isn’t right is the utter disaster when I open the front door. The table that acts as a catch all for keys and junk mail…