Six Sisters and the Blue Ledger on Oak Street

was there, written in the neat, rounded script she had practiced in high school before she started using her clipped, professional handwriting.

“Unanimous,” Gene said, her voice flat and steady. “That means six of us, Clara.”

“And I never signed anything but a plumbing permit,” I said.

Gene set the green pencil down on the open page. “Then Beatrice has continue reading …