AUTHOR INTERVIEW: Therese Walsh, The Last Will of Moira Leahy, part 2

I lost my twin to a harsh November nine years ago. Ever since, I’ve felt the span of that month like no other, as if each of the calendar’s thirty perfect little squares split in two on the page. I wished they’d just disappear. Bring on winter. I had bags of rock salt, a shovel, and a strong back. I wasn’t afraid of ice and snow. November always lingered, though, crackling under the foot of my memory like dead leaves.It’s no wonder then that I gave in to impulse one November evening, left papers