I always liked that mug.”

“It’s a rocket ship,” I said.

“My youngest painted it.

She’s six.

She goes outside the lines on purpose.”

Dana nodded as if that settled something.

In the hallway, Eleanor walked slowly, one hand resting near her coat pocket, and the attorney followed behind us with the folder held against her chest.

“I always like to see what a man does after he loses the thing he thought mattered,” the attorney said, mostly to the file.