"Why did you say you were waiting for her for a long time?" Alanis asked, which brought her around to us again. She stared at me again for a moment.
"Your father's name is Christopher?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"What about Emma?" she asked quickly.
"Grandmother Emma?"
"Yes," she said, drawing the corners of her mouth in and down, which shot a line through each side of her jaw. "Grandmother Emma. Did she send you?"
"Oh, no. ma'am. She's very sick," I said. "She's in the hospital."
"She had a stroke," Alanis added quickly.
"And who are you?" Mrs. DeMarco asked her with surprising sharpness.
"I'm Lester Marshall's granddaughter. Do you know Lester Marshall? He works for Miss Wilkens."
"No," she said. Then she thought a moment.
"Maybe." she added. "'He came later."
"Later? When later?"
"After I was gone," she replied.
Alanis glanced at me, a look of satisfaction spread on her face. We had come to the right person, the right place.
"Who was in the attic? Why was there a Moses basket? Did you live up there? Was the basket for your baby?" Alanis asked, firing her questions as if she was afraid that if she stopped, it would be too late.
Mrs. DeMarco looked from Alanis to me again, her forehead scrunching with thought, her eyebrows dipping toward each other as a crown of confusion settled on her.
"So you don't know who was in the attic?"
"No," Alanis said. "That's why we came to see you."
"Um," she said. nodding. She smiled as it all began to clear, like something foggy coming into sharp focus. "So you two don't know anything?"
'No.' Alanis said.
She looked at me to confirm. "No, ma'am," I said.
"And you're a March?" she asked again, this time sounding a little skeptical.
"Tell her about yourself," Alanis urged.
"Yes tell me," Mrs. DeMarco said. "Your parents let you come here yourself?"
"Her parents were in a car accident."
"Oh?"
"They were in a bad car accident," I said. "My mother is in a coma and my father has to be in a wheelchair now."
"How terrible."
"She has a brother. too."