Chapter 6: Room Six

In the morning I put the half-burned envelope in my bra and went to find the one person in the building I didn't think was lying to me.

He was in the kitchen at six, standing at the stove with his sleeves pushed up, cracking eggs one-handed into a skillet.

A small woman in her seventies sat at the steel counter with a crossword.

She had white hair cut like a boy's, enormous reading glasses and a mug that said WORLD'S OKAYEST AUNT.

"This is my aunt," Judd said. "She owns the place, and she thinks she's retired."

"I'm resting my eyes," his aunt said without looking up. "Sit, honey. Eggs are coming whether you want them or not."

I sat.

I put the envelope on the counter between us and told them both about the fire.

I did not say much.

Judd turned the burned flap over with one finger, read the front and the last scorched line, and put down the spatula.

"Is not what?" he said. "The picture is not what?"

"I don't know. Mine. Real. Finished." I swallowed. "She kept it fourteen years."

"She burned it last night," his aunt said, "in my fire pit, without asking."

"Auntie," Judd said, tiredly.

She finally took off her glasses and looked at me properly.

"Your sister stayed here in June," she said.

The kitchen went quiet except for the eggs.

Judd turned all the way around. "What?"

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