Garrett came up to the booth five minutes late in his dark blue wool suit, carrying a brand-new leather briefcase.

He slid into the vinyl seat next to Frank, smiling as he picked up the glass water pitcher from the side table.

“Dad had two dizzy spells at the office this week, Frank,” Garrett said smoothly, tipping the pitcher to fill my water glass right up to the gold rim.

“We should keep his evening commitments short so he can get his strength back.”

“I had a mild case of stomach fatigue,” I said, pressing my palms flat on the edge of the wooden table.