But who did her mother think she was, telling her to lie and then siccing this priest on her for not going to confession? Karen had smiled when she’d told the priest, “Actually, I’ve got one full brother. Two of them are halfs.”

Father Gillespie had blown smoke up past his cheek, eye-balling her. “I’m sorry, child, what was that you said?”

“I said I’ve got one full brother—you know, from the same dad. My other two brothers are my stepfather’s.”

“What were you thinking?” her mother asked her now, reaching over the toilet and twisting the skin on Karen’s forearm. “Do you have any idea what you could have done? Any idea at all?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Karen said, pulling her arm away.

“You most certainly did, and you did it on purpose. Divorced women aren’t allowed to take Communion. They cut you off from the body of Christ. Forever.” She made an effort to lower her voice. “I don’t like that part of the church, but I can’t change it. All I can do is … find a way around it. The church and God may mean nothing to you, young lady, but they mean something to me, and I won’t be refused Communion.”

Karen stared down at the toilet lid.

“Look at me,” her mother said. “You will not bring down this family.”

Karen felt her eyes widen. “You’re nuts,” she said. “Let me out of here.”

She stepped around the toilet and began to pull the door open, but her mother said “No!” sharply and, leading with her elbow, brought the entire weight of her body against the door, slamming it shut. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” she whispered angrily. “I am not crazy, even though you’re doing your best to drive me crazy. You’d love nothing more than to see me kicked out of the Church. You’d love to see this whole family fight itself to death.”

Karen didn’t want either of those things to happen. She wasn’t even sure what one had to do with the other. She only wanted to get out of the bathroom, away from this woman. She started to cry.