“Who is that?” I yell. “Did he just get hit by a car?”

Mildred forcibly turns me around and leads me back toward the phone booth. “Did you leave your handbag in here?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She retrieves my purse and loops the strap over my shoulder. The far-off keen of an ambulance slams against my skin. I shuffle toward the noise. Mildred is tugging me back, I’m stretching forward.

That’s the mugger on the road, I’m sure of it.

There are about twenty folks between me and him, though. How are there so many people? It’s like they showed up to deliberately block my view. When the ambulance careens around the corner, the crowd steps back as one to make room. Over their heads I can see the paramedics emerge from the front of the ambulance and hurry around to open the rear. Then they disappear into the throng. They reappear in moments, the gurney heavy with a body. They slide it in the back of the station wagon, close the door, reclaim their seats, and drive off.

Away from the hospital.

I know this because Lilydale General is on my end of town, southeast. The ambulance is driving northwest.

“Mildred,” I groan in a voice I don’t recognize. “Where are they taking him?”

“The hospital, dear.”

“But it’s the other way.”

“Saint Cloud hospital, then. It’s bigger.” Mildred is searching the crowd. I realize she’s looking for help in controlling me.

I am a risk. They don’t want me to become hysterical.

Was my mugger a risk? Did Lilydale take care of him? I must control myself.

“I think I need to visit Dr. Krause,” I say.

Mildred’s relief is so tangible that it would be hilarious if not for the circumstances. “I’ll walk with you,” she says.

I must be cooperative. There is too much danger, too much on the table. I smell it, and it smells thick and coppery, like great amounts of drying blood. “Thank you.”

She weaves us around the edge of the crowd, distracts me with chatter, but she needn’t worry. I am looking nowhere but at my own feet. I fear there is no one in Lilydale but Regina who would believe me, no one, not even Deck, who wouldn’t commit me and take my baby away if I tell them that I’m certain I’m always being watched, that I have the same scar as my boyfriend and a stranger who claims to be a boy who disappeared twenty-four years ago, that somehow the man who mugged me in Minneapolis showed up in Lilydale, and now he’s been hit by a car.

Hell, I’d commit whoever told me that story.

I’ve heard of that before, of women who lose their mind because of the disequilibrium of pregnancy. They never get it back.

I don’t want to be crazy.

I hug myself tighter, letting Mildred lead me inside the doctor’s office. She murmurs something to Cornelia at the front desk. I am immediately guided to a back room.

Dr. Krause appears moments later. I’m not surprised.

“I’m not feeling well, Dr. Krause. Not like myself.” I won’t offer details. I will not tell him that either this entire town is insane, or I am. “I feel like I’m overstimulated. Growing upset over minor things.”

“I’m glad you came,” he says, nodding, his expression concerned. He has brought a chart with him. He opens it. “September 5 due date. That’s right.”

He peers at me through his round, rimless glasses. He has yet to examine me beyond the cursory check last visit.

“You’re being a thoughtful mother, very obliging, following medical orders,” he continues, his gaze serious.

Silence shrouds the room, a quiet so forceful that I can feel its heat.

The doctor’s threat is clear. Follow my rules, or else.

I nod to show I understand.

“Very good,” he says. “I’ll increase your Valium, and you’ll promise to come back if you feel unsettled again, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

CHAPTER 30

“I think it may have been the heat,” I say. I’m standing next to Deck, holding the relish dish I forgot to put out with the rest of the food. Ronald and Barbara have joined us for dinner, which I’ve cooked. It’s too late for relish, the main course is almost finished, but I need to show them I’m trying. Deck is carrying brandy to refill his glass as well as Barbara’s and Ronald’s.

I’ve prepared a new recipe from one of the women at Catherine’s gathering. It’s a hamburger hot dish that calls for corn mixed in with the cream of mushroom soup. I’m grateful everyone appears to have enjoyed it.

“We’re just glad you’re okay,” Ronald says. He scoops out his third serving of the hot dish. He seems to especially enjoy the cornflake crust. “That’s what’s most important. You’re carrying our grandbaby in there.”

I smile and let Deck slide his arm around my thickening waist. “I agree. That’s the most important,” I say. Then, almost as if it’s an afterthought: “I was also upset by the accident I witnessed.”

Barbara and Ronald exchange glances. I notice because I’m watching for it.

Deck is oblivious. He selects a sour gherkin from the dish and pops it into his mouth. “What accident?”

“A man was hit by a car.” I gamble on keeping my focus on Barbara because I can watch only one of them. I’m rewarded as she blanches.

“He’s fine,” Ronald says. “Dennis is going to run a bit about it in the paper.”

I swivel my gaze to him. He’s been studying me like I’ve been watching Barbara, just like he was reading me the first day we drove up. Tendrils of warning brush my flesh. I force a smile. “I’m so glad to hear it. When the ambulance drove in the opposite direction of Lilydale General, I worried it was really serious.”

“An abundance of caution,” Ronald says. “Now, what did you learn about Paulie Aandeg?”

Deck drops into his seat, and I rest the relish tray on the table and take my place kitty-corner to him.

“He’s a good-looking fellow,” I say. “But it’s impossible to know if he’s really the boy in the sailor suit.”

“I wasn’t even born when Paulie disappeared,” Deck says, “but I’d like to meet this fellow. I think I’d know if he was telling the truth.”

“He has a scar,” I say. I hadn’t planned to bring it up, but I find I want to see their reaction. “The man who claims to be Paul. Deck, it looks just like ours.”

Barbara’s fork clatters to the floor. “Deck doesn’t have any scars.”

I pull up my sleeve, smiling. I’ve unsettled them, but they won’t know that’s why I’m smiling. They’ll take it for innocence. “It’s a smallpox scar.”

“Everyone has one of those,” Ronald says quickly. “I have one of those.”

I notice for the first time that he and Deck hold their forks the same, like they’re stabbing their food.

“Not like ours,” Deck says. He’s stopped eating. His brow is furrowed. “Joan and I have figure-eight scars.”

For the first time since we’ve moved to Lilydale, I think the Deck I fell in love with might still be here. I fuss with my napkin so he can’t see my grateful tears.