I slipped the brass key into my skirt pocket before I went.

It hadn’t fit my desk drawer, my mailbox, or the supply closet, and I had tried all three the night before.

Derek had set the table himself.

Turkey clubs cut into triangles, a bowl of green grapes, a pitcher of iced tea sweating rings onto a stack of paper napkins.

Megan sat with her back to the window, smoothing one cardigan lapel and then the other, as if somebody might be taking pictures.

“Charlotte.