I almost left, but then I saw the window. It made me stop breathing for a minute. Colors filled the choir loft, like a rainbow had decided to come inside for a while. The window itself was bright, and I could see details in the picture that I had never seen before. I started moving closer to it, kind of hypnotized. Before I knew it, I was standing near the old lady, and now I could see she had been crying. Even though she still looked ancient, she didn’t seem so scary. I was going to ask her if she was okay, but before I could say anything, she said, “What are you doing here?”

Her voice was kind of snooty, so I almost said, “It’s a free country,” but being in church on a Sunday, I decided against it. “I like this window,” I said.

“Do you?” she seemed surprised.

“Yes. It’s the Mary Theresa Mills window. She died when she was little, a long time ago,” I said. For some reason, I felt like I had to prove to this lady that I had a real reason to be up there, that I wasn’t just some kid who had climbed up to the choir loft to hide or to throw spitballs down on the pews. I told her everything I had figured out about Mary Theresa Mills’s age, including the birthday part. “So if she had lived, she’d be old now, like you.”

The lady frowned a little.

“She was really good,” I went on. “She was practically perfect. Her mother and father loved her so much, they paid a lot of money and put this window up here, so that no one would ever forget her.”

The old lady started crying again. “She wasn’t perfect,” she said. “She was a little mischievous. But I did love her.”

“You knew her?”

“I’m her mother,” the lady said.

I sat down. I couldn’t think of anything to say, even though I had a lot of questions about Mary Theresa. It just didn’t seem right to ask them.

The lady reached into her purse and got a fancy handkerchief out. “She was killed in an automobile accident,” she said. “It was my fault.”

I guess I looked a little sick or something when she said that, because she asked me if I was all right.

“My dad died in a car accident.”

She just tilted her head a little, and something seemed different about her eyes, the way she looked at me. She didn’t say, “I’m so sorry,” or any of the other things people say just to be saying something. And the look wasn’t a pity look; she just studied me.

I rubbed my bad knee a little. I was pretty sure there was rain on the way, but I decided I wouldn’t give her a weather report.

“Is there much pain?” she asked, watching me.

I shrugged. “I’m okay.”

We sat there in silence for a time. I started doing some figuring in my head, and realized that I had been in my car accident at the same age her daughter died in one.

“Were you driving?” I asked.

“Pardon?”

“You said it was your fault she died. Were you driving?”

“No,” she said. “Her father was driving.” She hesitated, then added, “We were separated at the time. He asked if he could take her for a ride in the car. Cars were just coming into their own then, you know.”

“You mean you rode horses?” I asked.

“Sometimes. Mostly I rode in a carriage or a buggy. My parents were well-to-do, and I was living with them at the time. I don’t think they trusted automobiles much. Cars were becoming more and more popular, though. My husband bought one.”

“I thought you were divorced.”

“No, not divorced, separated. We were both Catholics. We weren’t even legally separated. In fact, the day they died, I thought we might be reconciling.”

“What’s that?”

“Getting back together. I thought he had changed, you see. He stopped drinking, got a job, spoke to me sweetly. He pulled up in a shiny new motor car, and offered to take Mary Theresa for a ride. They never came back. He abducted her-kidnapped her, you might say. She was his daughter, there was no divorce, and nothing legally barring him from doing exactly what he did.”

“How did the accident happen?”

“My husband tried to put a great distance between us by driving all night. He fell asleep at the wheel. The car went off the road and down an embankment. They were both killed instantly, I was told. I’ve always prayed that was true.”

I didn’t say anything. She was crying again. I pulled out a couple of tissues I had in my pocket and held them out to her, figuring that lace hankie was probably soaked already.

She thanked me and took one of them from me. After a minute, she said, “I should have known! I should have known that a leopard doesn’t change his spots! I entrusted the safety of my child to a man whom I knew to be unworthy of that trust.”

I started to tell her that it wasn’t her fault, that she shouldn’t blame herself, but before the words were out of my mouth, I knew I had no business saying anything like that to her. I knew how she was feeling. It bothered me to see her so upset. Without really thinking much about what I was doing, I started telling her about the day my father died.

Since I’m being completely honest here, I’ve got to tell you that I had to use that other tissue. She waited for me to blow my nose, then said, “Have you ever talked to your mother about how you feel?”

I shook my head. “She wanted me to, but since the accident-we aren’t as close as we used to be, I guess. I think that’s why she got together with Harvey. I think she got lonely.”

About then, my mother came into the church, and called up to me. I told her I’d be right down. She said they’d be waiting in the car.

As I got up, the old lady put a hand on me. “Promise me that you will talk to your mother tonight.”

“About what?”

“Anything. A boy should be able to talk to his mother about anything. Tell her what we talked about, if you like. I won’t mind.”

“Okay, I will,” I said, “but who will you talk to when you start feeling bad about Mary Theresa?”

She didn’t answer. She just looked sad again. Just before I left, I told her which steps to watch out for. I also told her to carry an umbrella if she went out that evening, because it was going to rain. I don’t know if she took any of my good advice.

In the car, I got worried again. I was expecting Harvey to be mad because I kept them waiting. But he didn’t say anything to me, and when he talked to my mom, he was sweet as pie. I don’t talk when I’m in a car anymore, or I might have said something about that.

Harvey went out not long after we got home. My mother said we’d be eating Sunday dinner by ourselves, that Harvey had a business meeting he had to go to. I don’t think she really believed he had a business meeting on a Sunday afternoon. I sure didn’t believe it. My mom and I don’t get to be by ourselves too much, though, so I was too happy about that to complain about Harvey.

My promise to Mary Theresa’s mother was on my mind, so when my mother asked me what I was doing up there in the choir loft, I took it as a sign. I told her the whole story, about the window and Mary Theresa and even about the accident. It was the second time I had told it in one day, so it wasn’t so rough on me, but I think it was hard on her. She didn’t seem to mind, and I even let her hug me.

It rained that night, just like my knee said it would. My mom came in to check on me, saying she knew that the rain sometimes bothered me. I was feeling all right, though, and I told her I thought I would sleep fine. We smiled at each other, like we had a secret, a good secret. It was the first time in a few years that we had been happy at the same time.

I woke up when Harvey came home. When I heard him put the Imperial in the garage, I got out of bed and peeked from behind my bedroom door. I knew he had lied to my mom, and if he was drunk or started to get mean with her, I decided I was gonna bash him with one of my crutches.

He came in the front door. He was wet. I had to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing, because I realized that he had gone out without his umbrella. He looked silly. The rain and wind had messed up his hair, so that his long side-the side he tries to comb over his bald spot-was hanging straight down. He closed the front door really carefully, then he went into the bathroom near my bedroom, instead of the one off his room. At first I thought he was just sneaking in and trying not to wake up my mom, but he was in there a long time. When he came out, he was in his underwear. I almost busted a gut trying not to laugh. He tiptoed past me and went to bed. The clock was striking three.