Chapter 18: Maple Street

I wrote back: No. Where are you?

The answer came before I put the phone down.

On Dad's porch.

Mitch drove me across town in the snow without asking a single question.

Maple Street was dark except for one light.

The porch light was on, as it always was.

Under it, a small figure in a white coat sat on the swing with her knees pulled up.

There was a sign in the front yard now, with a phone number and a smiling face.

Joan's car was gone from the drive.

"I'll wait here," Mitch said.

I walked up the steps, and the boards creaked in the places I knew.

Louisa did not look up.

"She's at the church supper," Louisa said. "I let myself in with my old key."

"And?"

"Then I couldn't be in there, so I came out here."

I sat down beside her, and the swing moved under us.

For a minute neither of us spoke.

"I took the loft," Louisa said. "Before I knew. I screamed, and I hugged her, and I cried."

"You didn't know."

"I knew you weren't in the pictures." Her voice shook. "I knew you got the late shifts and ate lunch at your desk."

"Lulu."

"I told myself it was how you liked it. I didn't ask, because asking would have made the answer real."