But Clara had been thinking about the report since the moment she returned to her chair the previous afternoon.

She couldn’t understand how something that occupied so much of her own mind could become a small, inconvenient stack of papers on someone else’s desk.

She returned to her seat.

Mateo, who sat two desks away, leaned toward her.

“Is that your dog report?”

“Yes.”

“Are you still presenting it?”

“I don’t know.”