She was holding the exact tool they needed to make it through Sunday.

They drove three miles down the highway to a twenty-four-hour restaurant.

The red neon sign on the roof buzzed with a steady electrical hum.

Claire slid into a cracked vinyl booth near the back.

Eli and Owen sat across from her.

Arthur took the aisle seat next to Claire and set his briefcase carefully on the floor.

A waitress in a pink uniform set down four plastic baskets of hamburgers and fries.

The smell of hot grease and toasted buns filled the small booth.