Rebecca slid a folded sheet of blue bond paper across the Formica tabletop.

The diner smelled of burnt coffee grounds and lemon floor wax.

The waitress set two thick ceramic mugs of black coffee down between us and walked off without leaving a pitcher of milk.

Rebecca kept her dark wool coat on, her fingers working the top brown button out of its loop, then pushing it straight back through the hole.

“Read the bottom line,” Rebecca said.

I opened the blue sheet with both hands.