She gave me four of them and told me to eat something.”

We put the bag on the kitchen table and unwrapped the mugs from their newspaper, one by one.

Eleven of the twelve had survived the trip.

The one with the moose on it had a hairline crack in the handle.

“That’s the one from New Hampshire,” Marcus said.

“From a gas station off ninety-three.

He bought it the summer I turned nine and kept it in the car for a month.”

I slid the moose mug across the table to him.