When I opened my eyes, I was on a red-flowered couch and three faces were looking down at me. One of the faces belonged to Burke Allen.

“She ain’t no bigger than a minute,” said a man with very short gray hair.

“Her name is Louisiana Elefante,” said Burke. “And her mama and daddy was trapeze artists.”

“I thought she was some kind of wounded animal,” said the third person. He looked just like Burke, except older. His hair was blond, too, and cut just the same as Burke’s and the old man’s.

“I thought maybe she was a bobcat,” said the blond man, who was surely Burke’s father. “She was wailing like a bobcat.”

“There ain’t no more bobcats in them woods,” said the gray-haired man.

“I know that, Daddy,” said Burke’s father. “I’m saying that’s what she sounded like.”

“Well, she ain’t no bigger than a minute.”

“You already said that, Grandpap,” said Burke.

“I’m saying it again, ain’t I?”

“You are all Burke Allens,” I said, because it was just now making sense to me. One Burke Allen was the father and the other Burke Allen was the grandfather, and the final Burke Allen was my Burke Allen.

Burke looked down at me and smiled. “Hey, Louisiana,” he said.

I stuck my hand up and waved at him.

“Hey,” said Burke again. “How do you feel?”

“I feel strange,” I said.

“Maybe it’s that old curse,” said Burke.

“What curse?” said the grandfather.

“There’s a curse upon her head,” said Burke.

“Now, son,” said Burke’s father, “don’t go making things up.”

“I ain’t making it up,” said Burke. “She told it all to me.”

“Where is Clarence?” I said.

No one answered me.

The cake smell was very strong. The couch was flowered. Did I say that already? My ankle hurt, but not much. I felt like I was floating on a flowered, cake-scented cloud.

Maybe I was in heaven.

“Granny” didn’t believe in heaven. But that didn’t mean I had to not believe, did it?

Maybe I came from a long line of believers. Who could say?

In any case, the cake smelled very, very good.

“What kind of cake is that I smell?” I said to Burke.

And then there was a woman coming toward us. She had big blond hair. She was smiling at me. She didn’t look a thing like the Blue Fairy, but she smiled the same way the Blue Fairy smiled. She was wiping her hands on a striped dish towel.

She said, “Honey, that is my famous chocolate-chocolate cake.”

Burke said, “Mama is making seventeen cakes.”

“Seventeen?” I said.

“Seventeen,” she said.

Seventeen cakes!

The room spun around.

“Burke,” I said, “I don’t know who I am.”

“You’re Louisiana,” he said.

“Did she hit her head?” said his mother.

“There’s a letter,” I said. I tried to sit up, but I felt dizzy, and I immediately lay back down. “The letter explains everything. Actually, it doesn’t explain anything at all. And besides, the letter is gone, blown by the wind into the lands of no return.”

“How’s that?” said the grandfather. “The lands of what?”

“We’ll find it,” said Burke.

“I don’t want to see that letter ever again,” I said. I started to cry.

“She’s crying,” said Burke.

“I see that, son,” said Burke’s father.

“Hey, now,” said the grandfather. He took hold of my hand, and his hand was so rough and callused and oversized that it was like holding on to a horse hoof. I cried harder.

I had never held hands with a horse before.

“Thought she was a bobcat,” said Burke’s father.

“No bigger than a minute,” said the grandfather. He squeezed my hand with his horse hoof. It hurt, but it was comforting, too.

“Burke,” I said, “Granny is gone.”

“Gone?” said Burke.

“Gone,” I said.

The world smelled so sweet.

I thought I would just close my eyes.