Catherine was standing at the kitchen window with a coffee mug when he pulled in, and he could see her through the glass, even though she probably thought she was invisible at that hour. She looked like someone who had not slept well and had decided that looking like someone who had not slept well was not acceptable, so she'd gotten up early enough to fix it.
Hair done, blazer on, posture correct. Only the mug gave her away.
She was holding it with both hands. You held a coffee mug with both hands when you needed something to hold on to.
He unloaded the truck without going to the door. He knew what he was doing.
He didn't need to announce himself. He pulled on his gloves, checked the footings from yesterday, felt the concrete fully set solid exactly right, and started laying out the materials for the next phase.
He was threading the first section of new mesh when the back door opened. "You're early," Catherine said.
"2 minutes," he said.
"I noticed." A pause.
"Coffee?" He looked up.
She was holding a second mug. She'd brought it out already, which meant she'd made it before she came outside, which meant she'd planned to offer it before she even knew if he was here yet.
Thank you, he said. She came and set it on top of the toolbox, which was the only flat surface available.
And that small practical problem solving. Where do I put this here? was somehow more comfortable than any careful gesture would have been.
She stood for a moment. She didn't make conversation.
She watched him work and she did it the way Lily had done it yesterday, openly without pretending she was doing something else. "You sleep?" he asked without looking up.
"Some," she said.
"The board meeting, is it final?"
"There's a shareholder vote in 3 weeks," she said.
"But yes, it's final." A beat.
I just haven't told anyone yet except apparently you. He looked at her then.
Why me? She thought about it for a moment.
Really? Thought not reaching for an easy answer.
Because you're going to be here for 3 days and then you're going to leave, she said. And you don't know anyone I know.
And yesterday you didn't say you were sorry. Would that have helped?
No. She said it never does.
She looked into the mug. Everyone says they're sorry and then they tell you what they think you did wrong.
At least with you, I just got the silence. The silence wasn't nothing, he said.
I know, she said. That's why.
She went back inside. Daniel drank the coffee.
It was good coffee, the kind made by someone who paid attention to small things. He went back to the fence, and the morning opened up around him, quiet and deliberate, the way good work mornings do.
He had been at it for 40 minutes when he heard the argument. Not loud, not explosive.