Pithy hasn’t often revealed family secrets to me—at least not those of her family. “You knew this at the time?”

“I found out. My friend was so despondent that she attempted suicide. Always more dramatic than efficient, was Emily. But still … the damage was done.”

“Did you tell your mother about it?”

“Don’t be obtuse, dear. I didn’t have to tell her.”

“I thought you said she didn’t know about it.”

Pithy gives me a sidelong glance. “For God’s sake. On some level, mothers know everything.”

“Mama knows,” I murmur.

“What’s that?”

“Something a friend of mine used to say. Mama knows. It implies a sort of maternal extrasensory perception, I think.”

Pithy smiles. “A wise friend. But my point was, you can’t give this sexual nonsense too much weight. Did the fact that Martin Luther King diddled all those women change what he did for his people? Or Franklin Roosevelt? General Eisenhower? Not one whit. Men are men, and gods are for storybooks. And if you’ve read your Edith Hamilton or Jane Harrison—or the Old Testament, for that matter—you’ll know that gods acted like men most of the time, or worse.”

“I realize Dad’s as human as the next man.”

“No, you don’t. And that why this hurts so much.”

I try to pull my hand back, but Pithy holds me with surprising strength.

“Lord, I wish you could get me a shot of cortisone. My joints are red-hot.”

“I’m going to call Melba as soon as I leave and get you taken care of.”

She frowns, afraid to get her hopes up. “Melba can’t prescribe, can she?”

“I’ll get Drew to order your shot.”

The china-blue eyes widen with gratitude. “You’re my angel, dear. You have made my day.”

I’m your fix, I reply silently, but I say nothing. Who could deny a dying woman a little comfort?

“I need my oxygen now,” she says. “I’m going to buzz Flora.”

As she touches a button, I reach down to the portable cart by her bed and retrieve the mask, then carefully fit it around her head. It feeds oxygen to her nose but keeps her mouth free to talk.

“I met Edith Hamilton at Bryn Mawr,” she says wistfully. “Did I tell you? She gave the most wonderful lecture: The Greek Way.” Pithy shivers suddenly, then takes a sip of cold tea from her bedside table. “Ugh … this would give a billy goat indigestion. Don’t leave yet, Penn. Let me get settled. This talk about Tom has me frazzled.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She takes several deep breaths as though trying to quell panic. “You know, sometimes … when I get oxygen-deprived … I hook up the machine, and then the gas hits my lungs … and I see things.”