My name was the last on the list, and there was no date next to it.

Behind me the elevator opened and somebody rolled a cart of file boxes past the break room door.

The table by the window sat empty, and the maple tree outside had turned green again without anyone writing it down.

At one o’clock I would learn what chair Diane meant.

At three thirty I would break a wax seal with a brass key sitting warm in my pocket.

For now I shut the notebook and put the rubber band back the way he had always kept it, doubled, so it wouldn’t stretch out.