“Dinner’s nearly ready.

Can’t that wait till morning?”

“I need to look at the March schedules tonight,” I said, my fingers resting on the top edge of the folder.

“I’m pretty sure those records got moved to the main terminal,” she said, taking a step into the room.

Her eyes went straight to the folder in my hand.

“Go watch the stove,” I said.

My voice was short and blunt, the tone I used when a terminal dispatcher questioned a freight run.