“I stayed with Jim and had a couple of more drinks. I left about eleven-­thirty, and when I drove past the church there was someone standing in front. As I pulled in the drive here, the person turned and went up the church steps. I got out of the car and walked over there, but there was no one around.”

“Don’t tell me the person you saw was Duff.”

“No.” He paused. “The person I saw—or thought I saw—was you.”

“You were drunk!”

“I’d had a lot to drink, I’ll admit.”

“I was in bed at eleven-­thirty. Do you want to check that with my family?”

“Please, Maggie, don’t shout. It’s illogical, I know. It must have been another woman, dressed as you were. The same kind of raincoat.”

“And you think that person wrecked your church and car?”

“I have no way of knowing. The church door was locked when I tried it. Then I came back to the rectory and thought about calling you.”

“Calling my husband and children, you mean, to ask what I was doing wandering around Cainesville!”

“Please, Maggie, keep your voice down. I decided it couldn’t have been you and went to bed.”

“If you decided that, why do you bring it up now?”

“Please, please, Maggie . . .” He looked toward the rectory, I suppose hoping that Father Fogarty and Mrs. Guenther would come out and rescue him from me.

“Why did your brother ask me if I was left-­handed?” I really was shouting now.

He didn’t reply, but suddenly his expression changed. He had been embarrassed before, but now he was staring at me in horror.

“Go inside, you weak little shit!”

I don’t know what made me say that, but I was so angry I couldn’t help it. I went back to the Plymouth and drove away, leaving him standing there with his mouth hanging open.

I drove around for forty-­five minutes or so, trying to calm down. Then I went back to the motel and knocked on Dr. Jackson’s door.

The session was over and Duff had gone to the coffee shop to get a hamburger, Dr. Jackson told me. He was packing his bag.

“So how is he?”

“Fine. Nothing wrong as far as I can determine.”

“What about the multiple personality?”

“Nothing like that emerged. I gave him a Rorschach and a TAT, and both tests indicated that he’s as completely well-­balanced as any boy his age ought to be. No overly aggressive tendencies. He’s imaginative, although he doesn’t fantasize. He’s highly intelligent, and he shows a strong degree of independence. You ought to be happy that you have such a son, Mrs. Caine.”

“But what about his fighting in school? What about assaulting his sister?”