She slid the folded paper across the smooth granite counter until it touched my right hand.

I looked down at her.

She twirled the red ribbon on her sleeve again and gave a tiny, desperate nod toward the paper.

Mark pulled the heavy glass pitcher from the bottom shelf.

Ice clinked loudly against the glass.

“Do you want a lemon slice in this?” Mark asked over his shoulder.

“No lemon,” I said.

I closed my hand over the folded note.