He continued to weep. I began to wonder if he felt responsible for Jack’s death, assuming that what he had just told me was a lie. On the other hand, if he was the General and he knew it, he was probably as powerless to do anything about it as I was about my situation. I felt a rush of sympathy for him now, and also remorse that I had been blaming him for a long time for things he very likely couldn’t control.

“Is there anything you especially regret about Dad’s death, Duff?” I asked as gently as I could.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think there might have been any way you could have prevented it?”

“I don’t see how. Father Jackson said Dad was pretty upset when he went looking for you. Maybe you could have prevented it if you hadn’t gone out, Mother.”

“I couldn’t help it.” I waited, but he didn’t respond. I wondered if, as Duff, he knew that I was sometimes Margaret Dorn.

But he didn’t ask me any questions. He just said, “Well, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference anyway. Dad might have died even if we stayed in Scarsdale. Maybe even sooner.”

“Are you sorry we left Scarsdale, Duff?”

“Sometimes I am.”

“Why?”

He hesitated. “Sometimes I seem to be a different person than I was in Scarsdale.”

“What sort of person, Duff? Tell me about it.”

“Oh, I’d better not get into any long-­winded discussion now, Mother. The nurse said I was to stay only a few minutes.”

“Are you still forgetful, Duff? You said one time you thought your memory was slipping.”

“I was joking, Mother.”

Father Jackson rapped and came in then.

“Am I disturbing you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“No, you’re not,” Duff said, standing up. “I’m going down the hall and sit with Franny for a while. I think Mother should get some more sleep.”

“What do you think is wrong with Franny?” I asked. “What could be causing her not to recognize us?”

“Oh, I think she recognizes us,” he said. “I think she just doesn’t want to talk with us.”

He went out and Father Jackson took the bedside chair and gave me a lot of platitudes about things getting better and relying on the mercy of God.

“What am I supposed to do if they don’t get better?”

“They will.”

“Crap.”

“You must have faith and you must pray.”

“Pray for what? My husband’s dead and my daughter’s in a catatonic state. And I don’t think General Caine and Margaret Dorn are going to remain quiet just because I pray that will happen.”

“Try it and see, Maggie. We’ll both try.”

“Get out of here.”

“Maggie, Maggie.” He took my hand.

I snatched it away. “Do you think you can start pawing me now that I’m a widow?”