I sat in a corner booth at the diner on the avenue, watching the waitress set four wide plates of warm apple pie between us.

David sat on my left in his gray wool suit, his wire-framed glasses reflecting the soft yellow lights over the booth.

Rachel sat across from him, her narrow blue notebook tucked away in her coat pocket for the first time since November.

Arthur sat beside her, adjusting his dark tie before pulling a small rectangular object from his leather briefcase.

He slid it across the Formica table until it rested against my glass mug of hot tea.