“I need to write things down.”

The diner sat past the overpass, a low brick box with Marge’s painted in the window and a specials board on a tripod out front.

Rachel took the booth facing the door and slid a cup of tea across the table before she had her coat off.

“Drink that,” she said.

“Then start thinking like a lawyer.”

I put both hands around the cup and left them there.

“I don’t want to think like a lawyer.