Lenore looks around, like she might have fallen for a trick, and her first instinct seems to be to close the door slightly. ‘And why would you want to do that?’ She has a voice that sounds like a xylophone being tapped, staccato and high and tinkling.

‘We just have a couple of questions for you. It’s for a … school summer project. A heritage thing.’

She looks for confirmation from Ellis, who frantically nods after a beat. Maybe it’s a hint of sympathy that crosses her face but either way she sighs and says, ‘Well, all right. Come in.’

We follow her inside, the path behind her scented like expensive woody perfume.

Her house is borderline unnavigable. A hoarder’s narrow walkways, glass display cabinets piled with thrift-store trinkets – the furniture, too, is mismatched and well-loved. I’m not even sure what colour the walls are – they’re choked by an abundance of picture frames, maps and art and dreamcatchers and clocks. A cross dangles precariously above a cluttered mantelpiece. The living room smells like lavender.

‘This is interesting,’ Lenore says. ‘Interesting. Have a seat.’

Ellis and I sit on a floral-print tapestry couch, scratchy to the touch.

‘Either of you want coffee, tea?’ she asks.

Ellis declines for the both of us.

Lenore regards Ellis in a friendly way, but with a look that’s still shrouded in thinly veiled pity. ‘How’s your mom doing, honey?’

‘Yeah, she’s good.’

‘And the hotel? All business as usual?’

‘Yeah,’ he lies.

‘Well, that’s good,’ she says, and presses down her skirt with the palms of her hands.

Is she stalling? Nervous? But why would she even let us in, in that case?

Lenore turns her attention to me, unwavering. ‘And who might you be?’

‘My name’s Mona Perry. I’m a Seasonal. But Ellis was a little nervous to come alone so I’m accompanying him.’

Lenore leans forward towards the oval coffee table where there’s a glass dish full of cashews. She digs out a handful and throws them into her mouth, crunching with her molars. ‘That’s nice of you.’

‘This is a nice house,’ I say, not necessarily truthfully, but better than saying, This is certainly a house.

‘Thank you, sweetheart. It was my parents’ until they passed and their parents before that – a few generations’ worth of treasures in here. Anyways. How can I help you, then?’

I look to Ellis, trying to get him to speak. He realizes.

‘Uh,’ he says, ‘well, it’s not b-b-business as usual, actually. Mom and I are moving at the end of summer and before I go, and with, you know, everything that’s happened, I wanted to learn more about Roxy – my grandma, I mean – and her life, I guess, because I won’t get to do it again.’

Learn more. Little genius.