“How dare you judge me. You don’t know anything about it.”

“You’re right. Why is that?”

Her eyes flash in the dark. “You want an explanation? All right. Remember the week after graduation? The week you went touring battlefields with your dad?”

“I remember.”

“I had two weeks before Radcliffe. The senior parties were still going on. Everybody was getting as drunk as they had been before graduation, maybe drunker. Someone from South Natchez threw a party on one of the sandbars past the paper mill. It was wild. Trucks driving all over the sand, people shooting guns, skinny-dipping. One car even went into the river. You were out of town, so guys were hitting on me all night. Ray Presley was there, watching me for Daddy, like he always did. At some point the police showed up. Ray put me in his truck and talked to one of the cops, got me past the roadblock.”

She turns toward the river, and the wind carries much of her voice away. “I was as drunk as I’d ever been, and I decided to play a little game. Ray was always watching me, making me nervous, hanging around like some malevolent shadow. And I’d always heard these stories . . . how he’d killed people, been in prison, other stuff. Anyway, I started teasing him. I asked if he’d ever killed anybody, and he admitted that he had. I asked him what it was like, what prison was like, stuff like that. Then I told him I’d always heard this story about how he had the biggest thing in town. You know, his equipment. He kept driving, but I could see I was getting to him, he was gripping the wheel so hard. So I said, Hey, is it true or what? And he said, Only one way to find out. It was like a dare, you know? So I said, Okay, let’s see it.”

The knowledge of what’s coming hits me like a blow to the solar plexus. “Livy . . .”