I reached one inch farther, straining my shoulder.

I grabbed the corner of the small book and pulled it up out of the puddle.

I sat back on the wet grass, breathing hard.

The cover was smeared with thick brown sludge.

The pages were damp, but the book itself was still in one piece.

I didn’t try to wipe it off yet.

I stood up, holding it tightly in both hands, and walked back across the empty lawn.

My Buick was the only car left in the back parking lot under the orange streetlights.