I didn’t stop.

The lot sloped down toward Route 4, and my boots came down hard on the wet asphalt, and hers came down faster.

She cut in front of me at the curb and put a hand on the fender of a parked truck to keep her balance.

“You have to give me time to pack,” she said.

“Friday,” I said.

“Friday is when the county comes.”

“Then you’d better not have much to pack.”