“Tomorrow,” I said.

“I’ll get them tomorrow.”

Gavin’s voice came down the corridor, not quite a shout.

“Nine minutes, Christopher.”

I set the mug back on the desk, squared it to the edge, and picked up the empty box.

The lot behind the building slopes down toward a stand of bare maples, and the walk from the side door is a hundred and forty steps.

I know because I’ve counted them on mornings when I was late.