7
“What’s the A-T-M? Some kind of Ladies’ Aid Society thing?” Charlie asked cheerfully.
“Don’t say your full name when people ask you,” Elisabeth hissed under her breath. “The old ladies at church know we’re related to the Davises. Other people might know, too.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? I fit in here. I’m part of the family. It isn’t strange that I’m here. Isn’t that better?”
“I suppose,” Elisabeth conceded. “But not if Mrs. Miller asks my mum about you. Then we have a problem. And anyway, you’re not staying here.”
“So what’s wrong with your mum?” Charlie attempted to change the subject.
Elisabeth ignored the question, hoping that he’d forget he’d asked. They turned a corner. The library was two blocks ahead, a large, ugly fifties-era building in a perfect rectangular block shape.
