I stood on the asphalt and watched him do it.

He did not look over at me once for approval.

The red hardbound logbook from August sat in a box on the shelf behind the barrier, closed and squared away under a rubber band.

I had put my hand flat on its cover that morning and left it there.

“General Vance’s aide called the office at seven,” Dewitt said, back inside, entering the truck number with his tongue a little between his teeth.

“What did the aide want?”