COLE
I bought the coffee before I could talk myself out of it.
Black. No sugar. From the place two blocks from the facility that charged six dollars for a cup and didn’t apologize about it. I carried it through the parking garage, through the lobby, up the stairs, and down the corridor to her office. The door was closed. I stood outside it for five seconds with a cup of coffee in each hand, looking like a man making a delivery he hadn’t been asked to make.
I knocked. First time I’d ever knocked on her door. Every other time I had walked in announced or unannounced and sat in the chair and waited for the pen to click.
The knocking was a mistake. It signaled something. I didn’t know what.
“Come in.”
I opened the door with my elbow. She was behind the desk. Tablet open. Pen in hand. Hai
