Vance called at seven in the morning.
"There's a man in a clean coat standing in my yard," he said. "He has a folder, and he keeps asking which monster used to be my brother."
Caleb had one hand around a chipped mug and the other arm strapped tight against his ribs. His mother had been trying to get him to eat toast, which sat on the plate getting cold at the corners.
"What kind of man?"
"The kind who brings a folder to a place that smells like hot oil. Come down here before I put him through a wall."
Caleb stood.
His mother looked at the sling.
"No," she said.
"I'll call you after."
"That is not an answer."
He kissed the top of her head because arguing would take longer than leaving, took the rail two stops, and walked the last blocks to the depot with his shoulder burning under the strap.
