“I know.” He got about halfway down the walk before he turned around.

“The boy,” he said. “The one with the shirt. Is he all right?”

I looked back through the doorway. Nolan was at the kitchen table with a cereal bowl and a library book about orbital mechanics, pretending very hard not to be listening, at which he has never once been good.

“He’s ten,” I said. “He’s taller than the counter.”

Abernathy laughed, and it turned into a cough, and he waved a hand and went to his car.

Kit examined the folder for a long time.