“Good lord, does no one pay attention to drafts?” she asked, heading back to the kitchen where her typewriter was set up.

“Mrs. Whitekraft!” said Crying Alice.

Sina heard this, whipped her head around, and jumped about four feet in the air. At this point Alice was crying so hard that she was leaning her face against the wall making hard-to-get-out wet marks, and all Sina saw was the back of a mass of unruly hair and because her mind was on other things, her first thought was that a large soggy dog had somehow gotten into the house and was dripping on her wall. But, of course, after that she quickly changed gears, came partly down to earth, and realized it was a person. It was the clothes, she explained to me later.

“Oh my God, are you a burglar?” she asked. Then she noticed that some of the wetness on the walls was from the burglar’s heaving, sobbing body. “Are you a burglar already repenting? Get out. Get out and I shan’t report you to the police.”

“Mrs. Whitekraft, I am not a burglar,” said Crying Alice. “Didn’t you hear me before? Don’t you recognize me? I’m your neighbor.”

Well, of course, Sina came fully down to earth then, realized exactly what she had on her hands, and was not happy about it.

“What are you doing breaking into homes? Do you call that neighborly? Get out.” Sina wanted to get back to her letter. She was losing her train of thought. It didn’t occur to her that there was any kind of situation at hand just because Alice was crying. Alice was always crying.

“I have a very great favor to ask you,” said Crying Alice, sobbing.

“The answer is no,” said Sina. “We can’t have people just charging into our homes and upsetting the order of things. I’m trying to write a letter and you’ve put me completely off.”

“You must help me. You must,” cried Alice.

“Why must I?” asked Sina.

“Because I’m afraid my husband is going to do something stupid.”

“What kind of stupid?”

“Dangerously stupid. I feel it in my bones,” said Crying Alice, blowing her nose.

“Oh, all right,” snapped Sina, who always paid attention to the things she felt in her own bones. “It will put a crimp in my evening, I can see that already, but come into the kitchen and tell me all about it.”

SINA TELLS ME

When Sina had finished relating all of this, I said, “My goodness, what was the great favor?”

“I’ve agreed to take the children of Crying Alice Madden,” said Sina.

“Surely not,” I said, grabbing two Girl Guide cookies out of the jar. This struck me as a two-cookie conundrum.

“Yes,” said Sina. “And I’ve no idea why. Any number of people could have taken them. Why me?”

“Perhaps you secretly like small children,” I suggested, sitting across from her and beginning on cookie number one.

“It would have to be very secretly,” said Sina.