Gal looked past me, down toward the ground. “It was because your mom drove Dawn home that night. That’s what you get for having a big heart in this town, you get accused of murder.” The pissy way she said it made me wonder if Gal got accused of something as well.

“What about your pet opossums? People said my mom killed them.”

“Phillis and Deeter? Nah,” she said, and opened her screen. She walked past me, squatted down slowly at the edge of her grass, and pulled up a dandelion weed. Tossed it in her grass, brushed her hand against her pants. “McClane and Rodney saw the coyote going at one of them. They chased it away, but they were too late.” She smiled, and it was sincere. “Your brother was so sweet. He held a memorial for those opossums. Tried to save Phillis’s babies. He nursed them with a dropper for days before the last one of them died.”

What?

I pictured Rodney standing beside my little kid self, his skin flush with heat. Flies hovering. Trinkets laid out around the opossums. Eight of spades. Marbles. Dream catcher with a brown feather. A cross bound with red yarn. It struck me as creepy and superstitious. I had never considered this was his version of a loving ceremony. When he ran away with the babies, I imagined he did something filthy and cruel with them.

“Father Greg said my mom was not herself. He said he performed an exorcism.”

She laughed. “He loves that hokey pokey. Talks about possession once a month. Like menstruation.” She pulled another weed. “During my time of the month, well, when I had a time of the month, I loaded up on salty chips. For Father Greg, it’s exorcism.”

Gal Kender was not a fan of this town and its people.

“What about my mom going away for a while?”

She tossed the weed in her grass, stared at our old house, and nodded. “Depression. She went to see a psychologist, but then, well, she was just gone, and I didn’t hear anything about it. Your dad asked if Becky could stay with us. He said your mom was being treated for Multiple Personality Disorder.”

“Multiple Personality Disorder? I-I never…” I trailed off.

No one had ever mentioned a disorder. I was hearing so many different things. My mind shifted through memories of my mom, searching.

“I didn’t believe it either. Your mom, when she came back, did not want to talk about it. Not at all. So I didn’t ask. And you guys moved shortly after.”

I was going to mention my drowning incident, and thank her for saving my life, but it felt pathetic in the shadow of all the other tragedy. I said, “How is McClane?”