“I’ll ride as far as the interstate ramp,” he said.

“My sister’s in Naperville.

She’ll hold it against me if the meatloaf goes cold.”

“Get in,” Claire said.

“Mind the folder behind the seat.”

The manila folder was on the floor there, soft at the corners, the boys’ birth certificates still inside it.

Arthur set it on his knees and put his hand over it.

The lot had emptied down to a few cars.