“I wouldn’t have known even in 1959,” said Papa. “Back then the wives handled school while the men earned the living. Ask your grandmother. Actually, don’t ask your grandmother; she gets snappish when you bring up that silly fire. Ah, here we are. And we’re having plain old lemon chicken with saffron rice.”

I have to find a person who would have known Mr. Sibley, she thought. Who would he have hung out with? What did people do in groups? In 1959? Did they … go bowling? Coach Little League? Go to church?

Church! She glanced at the car clock. Six minutes before five. The church office closed at five.

Papa pulled into his driveway and Macey yanked open the car door, dashed inside and grabbed the telephone. “Hi, it’s Macey Clare. I was just wondering, do you happen to know who was church secretary in 1959?”

Her grandfather came in behind her. She looked up at him. It was not her sweet chef in the kitchen Papa who looked back. It was the attorney he had once been, cold and hard. Macey dropped her eyes to the phone.

The current secretary muttered to herself for a while. “Hmmm. Well, there have been very few church secretaries. It seems to be the kind of thing people stay with. I think it must have been Stella Miller.”

“Is she still around?”

“Sure is. She’s in the nursing home up in the north part of town. She’s got to be a hundred. Ninety, anyway. The minister visits every Thursday afternoon to say hi.”

“Does she say hi back? Is she still with the program?”

“Yes and no. She’d probably remember everything from 1959, but nothing much about this year.”

Perfect, thought Macey. “Am I allowed to visit her or do I need, like, a permission slip or something?”

“They will be absolutely thrilled that a person under sixty-five is visiting.”

Macey hung up.

Papa and Nana did not know they had gotten somewhat deaf. Their voices from the kitchen were loud and clear.

Papa: “… obsessing on that fire.”

Nana: “… the less said, the better.”

Macey called him that night. Austin had just put her cap on a hook and was staring at it from the other side of his bedroom. “Aus,” she said to him, “will you do something with me?”

He felt jumbled and unsteady. “Anything.”

“Now that you have a driver’s license, would you drive me someplace?”

“Yes.” He felt as if his answer should be longer. But yes covered all he had to say.

“This may not be on your list, Aus. I want you to drive me to a nursing home to interview an old lady there.”

“You’re right. Not on my list.”

“I’m serious,” she said anxiously, as if he would refuse now, and she would be stranded.

“Okay, I’m putting it on my list. I’ll borrow the car from Grandfather. Maybe it can count for community service credit.”