He gave me a small white business card with one phone number printed on it.

“Forty-eight hours,” the man said.

He rolled the window up and drove off toward the exit ramp.

I stood in the dim garage and listened to his tires squeal across the painted arrows.

“Now all we can do is wait,” I said.

Margaret hooked her arm through mine.

“We need to go shopping.

Just not for clothes.”