Chapter 6: The Loft

Louisa came to Marge's door on Sunday night with a tin of cookies and snow in her hair.

Marge opened it with the rolling pin again, because she had kept it by the door since Friday.

"Oh," Louisa said. "Hi. I'm Louisa. I'm Willa's sister."

"I know who you are, honey. I packed your first birthday candles."

"Right. Sorry."

She held out the tin to Marge, and Marge looked at it for a long second and then took it.

"Come in before you freeze," Marge said. "She's on the couch with a very bad attitude."

I was on the couch with a very bad attitude.

I had spent the whole day answering a lawyer's email in one-line replies.

Louisa stood on the kitchen mat taking off her gloves one finger at a time.

She was in a white wool coat that probably cost what I made in a week, and her eyes were red.

"Trent told me not to come," she said. "He said you'd twist everything."

"Then why did you?"

"Because I didn't sleep." She sat down in the kitchen chair with her coat still on. "I read the paper you posted. I read it about forty times."

"Everybody did."

"Willa, is it real? Is it actually, legally real?"

"Mom had the lawyer draw it up. It has her name on it. It's due January second."

"She said it was a joke. Upstairs. She said it was a paper to scare you into calling her. She said nobody would ever collect it."

"Do you believe that?"

Louisa did not answer.

Marge put the kettle on and kept her back to us.

"The loft," Louisa said, in a smaller voice. "I called the building manager this morning. I wanted to ask about parking."