Kit’s apartment was a lot of what made the back of her van ghastly, although there was a lack of shag carpeting, which really made all the difference. Actually, it was a lot classier, in a mod-seventies sort of way. She opened the door and greeted us and didn’t seem surprised to see me, but she was so bleary-eyed that maybe she didn’t even realize I was there.

Bette handed her the coffee and she accepted gratefully, showing us into the living room.

“Where do you keep your aspirin, medicine cabinet?” Bette asked, walking toward the back hallway.

“Yeah. No-kitchen cabinet.” Kit looked at me as she sipped her coffee. “I’m sorry about spilling all over you, you know.”

“It’s okay. It was okay.” I was currently wearing a pair of Bette’s jeans and one of her tank tops, and really, because of that fact I should have been thanking Kit for spilling her drink all over me.

“You my sister’s new girl?” Kit mumbled into her coffee and I translated the incoherent sentence in my head before telling her I wasn’t.

“Here we go,” Bette said, joining us with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. Bette sat next to me on the couch. We watched Kit intently as she took the aspirin and swallowed it, and then went back to sipping her coffee.

“This what you came here for?” Kit finally asked. “Give me coffee and get the aspirin out of my cabinet, like I couldn’t get it myself?” She yawned and reclined against the back of the chair.

“No,” Bette said. “Look, it’s two things. It’s… I want to apologize for making you upset, and I want to point out that you agreed to give Alice an interview and you passing out isn’t really fair to her.”

I gave Kit a nervous smile, mostly because Bette was really reminding me a lot of my mother that one time she’d brought me down to school and reamed my principal for not giving me a fair shot at proving that I so totally hadn’t cheated on that Biology exam and didn’t every student, like every American, have the right to a fair trial?