Andrea laughs at, appreciates, can almost praise the sarcasm, but she answers Cathy's apposite question -- why lie about something so horrendous -- with the no-doubt even more relevant, "Who the fuck are you to call me a liar?"

Maybe she just hates Cathy, Andrea suggests. Or because she neither wants nor needs Cathy's advice, or her help, or her care with all the strings attached. She reaches down into the darkness and is surprised to find there's very little left, in the way of weaponry; Cathy is looking at her in a most disconcerting way.

"Besides, it's obvious you only came to find me because you're afraid I'll tell everyone about your affair."

"I am here because I care about you. I don't want you quitting school because of a mistake that I made. And just so you know? My husband already knows about the affair." Truth. And Adam? "I wish you wouldn't tell him, but I can't stop you if you do."

Andrea revels in disgust, glories in her triumph over this woman. Her moral victory. Cathy isn't good enough for him. Not for Adam, not for Sean, not for Paul, but that's not who she means. That's not the only men they share. She means Lenny; pearls before pink swine.

Cathy remembers not to laugh. "Is that what this is about? A crush? You have a crush on Lenny?"

A crush never feels like a crush. From the outside, it looks like a concussion, quickly faded. That's why we call it a crush, and not love. But from the inside it feels like a heavy blow to the abdomen and a heavy weight from the sky and that's really why it's called a crush, which is why you should never call them by name: Show respect for temporary insanity, because to do otherwise helps nobody.

"You think a guy that fine wouldn't go for a girl like me?"

This time Cathy can't help but laugh: It's not about her looks, it's about the fact that she's a child. That Lenny was terrified every time she'd look at him that way. "He's twenty-five years older than you are!" Cathy realizes she's losing her, that she's trailing off down the line, back into the river, that she'll soon be swept away, and levels: "Do not quit school, Andrea. Life is hard enough with an education. Don't make it harder on yourself."

Andrea asks Cathy once again to leave, her church and then her life, because this is the study of war. Because she still hasn't told the whole truth, because she still only sees the world through her own eyes and can't possibly comprehend how she's warped this girl's life, and until she does nothing she says means anything: Its truth, its falsity, are moot. She is carrying such burdens some have been forgotten, and nobody knows how scared Cathy grew up to become. Cathy complies and as she is leaving, they are changing the sign outside: