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L IS A J. L A W R E N C E

soup (“msg delight,” Ash called it), and also bought a bag of
apples and no-name mac and cheese.
Back at home, Ash wrestled with the key while holding
the bag of apples. It stuck in the lock, the door falling wide
open as he jerked his hand away. A handwritten note clung to
the bottom of the door, dragging in an arc. Greta crouched to
grab it, for one second believing it was some secret communi-
cation from Roger.

“I haven’t received a check for February’s rent,” Greta read.
“Please drop it in the mailbox at your earliest convenience. Elgin
Doyle.” Money, again. Always some reminder to nail them
right back in reality.
“So much for the senile old man forgetting to charge us
rent,” Ash said, lifting the note from Greta’s hand. “What kind
of name is Elgin? How do even you pronounce that?” ADVANCE READING COPY

Greta shrugged, wilting. “We’ll have to talk to him.”
“And tell him what?”
“The truth!” She pushed past him and dropped the
grocery bags on the table. “We haven’t done anything wrong,
so why are we the ones sneaking around?”
Ash nodded, setting down the apples and the bag of
canned soup.
“We tell him the truth, and what happens, happens,”
Greta said.

“Okay.”
Greta lay in bed that night rehearsing the conversation,
choosing her words. Ash had a job interview lined up. Maybe
they could ask for more time. She dreaded it but also felt a

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