“That she let other people make decisions for too long.”
The woman turned away.
The single father did not notice the pain in her expression.
He continued:
“Maybe unfair.”
“She had a major accident a couple years ago.”
“People say she stepped back.”
The woman’s voice became careful.
“What accident?”
“Car crash.”
“She started using a chair afterward.”
The woman looked down at her own legs.
The single father finally realized.
“Oh.”
She said nothing.
He looked toward her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t…”
“You didn’t what?”
He struggled.
“Connect it.”
The woman’s face remained neutral.
“Should you have?”
“No.”
“Then don’t apologize.”
He nodded.
Lesson learned.
After another mile, she asked:
“Why are you still there?”
“At the factory?”
“Yes.”
“My daughter.”
“Insurance.”
“Schedule.”
“Mortgage.”
“Pick one.”
“You don’t like the work?”
“I love the work.”
“That’s different from liking management.”
She smiled.
“What do you do?”
“Maintenance technician officially.”
“Unofficially?”
“Whatever breaks.”
“You sound overqualified.”
He looked toward her.
“Dangerous word.”
“Why?”
“Usually means somebody wants more work for the same money.”
She laughed again.
Then:
“Did you study engineering?”
He became quiet.
“Two years.”
“What happened?”
“Life.”
She waited.
He said nothing more.
The truck reached the Ashcroft Hotel twenty-five minutes later.
The entrance glowed gold against the snow.
Two valets ran forward.
The single father parked beneath the canopy.
A manager hurried out when he recognized the woman.
His expression went from concern to alarm.
“Ma’am.”
“We’ve been trying to locate you.”
The single father looked toward her.
The woman looked annoyed.
“My phone died.”
The manager turned toward staff.
“Bring a chair.”
“No.”
The woman pointed toward the truck bed.
“Mine is there.”
The single father assembled it.
The hotel staff watched him.
One valet tried to help.
He let him hold a wheel.
When the chair was ready, the woman transferred.
She removed the leather jacket from her shoulders.
Held it toward him.
“Keep it tonight.”
“No.”
“You’re freezing.”
“So are you.”
She looked toward the hotel.
“I have heat now.”
He accepted.
Their hands touched briefly.
Both noticed.
Neither mentioned it.
The woman looked toward his work badge clipped partly beneath his hoodie.
RIVERSIDE MOBILITY ASSEMBLY — MAINTENANCE.
“You’re working tomorrow?”
“If they let us.”
“What time?”
“Seven.”
She nodded.
The single father frowned.