I read the three words again under the dim dome light, tracing the heavy pencil grooves with my thumb.

I folded the paper carefully and slid it deep into my coat pocket.

My eleven-year-old Buick hesitated when shifting gears on the short drive across town.

By nine o’clock Saturday morning, I was sitting on a cold iron bench near the swings at Oakmont Community Park.

The frost was melting into mud, and wet fallen leaves stuck to the sides of my boots as I watched the paved path from the main road.

Lily showed up twelve minutes later.