Nathaniel looked at the folded foundation papers lying beside Martha’s cup and felt a quiet, unfamiliar lightness behind his ribs.

Caroline had drawn up the original foundation charter at this very corner table six years ago, writing the guidelines on the back of a paper placemat while she waited for the snow to clear from Route 30.

“Brenda,” Nathaniel said, getting up from the vinyl seat.

“Where’s the lantern from the truck bed?”

“In the back seat under my coat,” Brenda said, sliding out of the booth beside him.

“Do you want me to drive?”