Mymotheringlipstiycheekwithawethandkerchiefwhenthewomanmeaomyperipheralvision.Sheappearednormalandpleasant,aboutfortyyearsold.Herdeepbrownhairframedanintelligentface,butIerplexedatthewayherpalegreeneyeshadfixeduponme.Shestared,scrutiudied,andpondered,asifdredgingupaninnermystery.Shewasaraome.

    "Excuseme,"shesaid."ButyoureAndrewDay?"

    "HenryDay,"Icorrectedher.

    &quht,Henry.Youplaywonderfully."

    "Thankyou."Iturnedbayparents,whointimatedthattheywerereadytogo.

    Maybeshesawmyprofile,orperhapsthesimpleactawaysetoffsomethinginherbrain,butshegaspedanddrewherfiohermouth."Yourehim,"shesaid."Yourethelittleboy."

    Isquiherandsmiled.

    "YouaretheoneIsawinthewoodsthatnight.Ontheroad?Withthedeer?"Shestartedtoraisehervoice."Dontyouremember?Isawyouontheroadwiththoseotherboys.Itmusthavebeeornineyearsagobynow.Youreallgrownupahing,butyourethatlittleboy,nodoubt.Iwasworriedaboutyou."

    "Idontknowwhatyouaretalkingabout,maam."Iturogo,butshegrabbedmyarm.

    "Itisyou.IcrackedmyheadonthedashboardwhenIhitthedeer,andIthoughtyouwereadreamatfirst.Youcameoutoftheforest—"

    Iyelpedasoundthathushedtheroom,apurerawcrythatstartledeveryone,myselfincluded.Ididnotrealizemycapacityforsuinhumanillexisted.Mymotherintervened.

    "Letgoofmyson,"shetoldher."Yourehurtinghisarm."

    "Look,lady,"Isaid,"Idontknowyou.&quo