My 2012 Honda CR-V smelled of old crayons and stale apple slices.

I got into the driver’s seat and pulled the door shut against the wind.

Mark sat in the passenger seat with his briefcase on his knees.

He undid the brass latches on the leather case and took out a blank form.

I set my phone on the center console and dialed my father.

It rang four times.

My father breathed heavily into the phone before he spoke.

“Rachel,” Thomas said quietly.