She had quit asking me questions back in March.

“Every third line needs your initials,” she said.

“Not my initials.”

She pulled out the chair across from me and sat down, which in eleven years she had never once done.

“You could sit anywhere you like in this building now,” she said.

“I like this spot.”

Diane evened the stack against the edge of the table.

Beyond the glass, the maple had gone from bare to full green while the rest of us were shut up in conference rooms.