Julian was asleep before the county road, his head tipped against the window, his mouth a little open.

I passed the exit for our street and took the next one, four minutes longer, and I couldn’t have told you why.

The rattle sat in my bag on the back seat.

The folder rode on the console with the circled name facing up.

His phone lay face down on his knee, and it buzzed twice, and the screen lit the underside of his chin blue.

He didn’t move.