The diesel engine started with a heavy roar that shook through the gravel.

Nathaniel stood still until the red taillights faded down Route 30 toward the highway ramp.

He turned back toward the bright yellow square of the diner window.

Behind the warm glass, Daisy was eating a pancake from a wide oval plate, careful not to drip any syrup on her yellow paper stars.

Martha Miller sat right across from her, staring down at her own empty white plate with her hands folded tightly in her lap.

By eight o’clock on Tuesday morning, December twenty-sixth, Nathaniel was sitting in his Strasburg office pulling bank receipts out of the metal cabinet.