“And I’d do it again tomorrow.” He opened the door and put one foot out on the gravel.

“You pinned those badges on straight, and I watched two grown men read their own paperwork twice.”

“Arthur.”

“Go home.

Feed them something that isn’t from a vending machine.”

He walked to the diner on the ramp where his sister was waiting, and Claire watched until the door closed behind him.

The place they stopped at was two exits on, a low building with a glass case of pies turned toward the door.

They took the booth by the window, the vinyl cracked in the shape of a map, the menus wet at the corners.