She reached behind a box of receipt paper.
What she pulled out looked completely ordinary.
An old index card.
The corners were bent.
A coffee stain covered one edge.
Across the front were sixteen first names written in blue and black ink, each accompanied by a date.
Beside several of the names was a single word.
FRIDAY.
I recognized the handwriting before my mind fully accepted what I was looking at.
Michael’s handwriting.
I took the card from Mrs. Patel.
“No.”
She said nothing.
I turned toward Lily.
“Where did you find this?”
“In July.”
“What is it?”
Mrs. Patel pulled out a chair. ExploreSectional Sofas
“Sit down.”
I stayed standing.
She sighed.
“Your husband used to come here a lot.”
“I know.”
Michael loved diner coffee more than any reasonable person should.
He insisted coffee tasted better in thick white mugs.
I called that ridiculous.
He called me uncultured.
