Laura laughed. “Well, New York isn’t much better: Spring and fall last a month each and make you certain there’s no better city on earth, then summer and winter are brutal and exhausting. Precisely when you decide it’s time to leave once and for all, spring or fall shows up and you forget the pain all over again.”

Maggie made a face. “I’ve known relationships like that.” She turned to survey the room. “The furniture is nothing fancy, but hopefully you’ll be comfortable here.” She leaned against the door and folded her arms. “Here’s the scoop. I rent out rooms because I like the company and extra income, but how much time you spend with the rest of us is totally up to you. I make dinner most nights, but not all, and if you want to join us you need to text me before noon.”

“How does everyone . . .”

Maggie was clearly used to this conversation. “Pay for it? Dinner? Everyone throws a ten in the jar if they’re there, doesn’t worry about it if they’re not. So far it’s worked out. I’ll let you know if you owe me money, but you’ll have to take my word for it because I don’t keep receipts or give it that much thought.” She tipped her head to one side. “The rooms downstairs are bigger, but you share the bathroom, which only has a shower. If you want to take an actual bath in a real tub, the bathroom’s upstairs.” She mentioned a figure for rent that was much lower than Laura had been paying (though that rent had included an unshared bathroom, a kitchenette the size of a pack of cards, and all the cockroaches she cared to entertain). “I don’t take a deposit because I don’t like keeping track and want to be able to throw people out immediately and even capriciously, if I so choose. There’s no contract, it’s only me.” She sighed. “It’s definitely illegal, Los Angeles is pretty strict about these things, don’t tell the mayor.”

“I don’t know what he looks like.”

“Lucky for me. Washer and dryer are off the kitchen, you’ll have to get your own detergent and stuff.”

“So, Polly’s upstairs, and Libby and Anna . . . ?”