Evelyn Sterling lived in a brick bungalow with a concrete porch in a neighborhood of brick bungalows with concrete porches, forty minutes out.

It was almost eleven when Maya came up the walk.

The porch light came on.

The door opened on the chain, and then off it.

“Maya.” Evelyn’s hand went to her chest.

She was in a housecoat with her hair in a net.

“My God.

What — you’re supposed to be in the hospital.