Her mother came home at ten past ten and found Emma sitting on the kitchen floor with the notice flat on her knees.
"Hey," Dana said. "What's this, a vigil?"
She was still in her uniform, shoes in one hand, pink apron crumpled under her arm. She paused in the doorway and took it in. The paper, the lamp, Emma's face. Then she set the shoes down on the mat, carefully, side by side, and crossed the kitchen and sat down beside her with a long breath that was almost a groan.
"Let me see."
Emma handed it over.
Dana read it the way she read everything, lips moving slightly, one finger under each line. When she reached the bottom she folded it in half. She smoothed the crease flat with her thumbnail and set the paper on the linoleum between them.
"I got one at work," she said.
"What?"
"Not
