Wren left the routing sheet face down.
Tessa had put it beside the breakfast tray, where the light from the desk lamp made the copied pencil strokes easier to see. The new line had brought a road warning from the civic shelter. The produce pickup needed another route, and the service lane on the old municipal plan might offer one.
“This corner,” Tessa said. “The lane goes behind the yard. Yesterday you described a wall there.”
Wren moved the tray rather than the paper.
“I can’t today.”
The mechanic looked up.
“Just whether the lane meets the road. You don’t have to look at the other box.”
“I can’t.”
