"There's very little here," Ethan said. "He does occasional work for neighbors and local charities. Most of that never appears in any business listing."
"Is he married?"
"He was. His wife died two years ago. I didn't dig further."
Victoria closed the report. For the first time since asking for it, she felt that she had crossed a line. She knew a fact about Daniel's grief that he had not chosen to share with her. "Thank you," she said. "No more research."
Ethan nodded, relieved. When he reached the door she asked, "Do you ever think we make people small by putting everything about them into files?"
He turned back. "Sometimes. A file is useful if you're trying to verify a fact. It's a poor substitute for meeting a person."
Victoria looked at the few pages before her. "Yes," she said. "I think that's what I'm beginning to understand."
On Sunday afternoon, Victoria drove herself across the city. She did not tell Ethan where she was going, partly because she had grown tired of having every unplanned hour entered into someone else's calendar. Mostly, though, she knew he would ask whether Daniel had invited her, and she had no satisfactory answer. By the time the glass towers gave way to brick storefronts and older residential streets, she had rehearsed six different explanations and discarded them all.
Daniel's neighborhood seemed to occupy a time zone of its own. Children drew chalk lines on the sidewalk, a man repaired a bicycle in an open garage, and a woman in a yellow sweater stood watering flowers while discussing the weather with someone across the road. Houses sat close enough for neighbors to hear one another laugh through open windows. Victoria parked her car under an elm tree and remained inside for a moment, watching a boy deliver newspapers from a bicycle and wondering when she had last been somewhere nobody expected her to make a decision.
A soft metallic tapping came from the workshop behind Daniel's house. She followed the sound through the side gate, careful not to step on a small row of marigolds planted against the fence. The workshop door stood open. Daniel was bent over an old chair, checking a repaired joint while Alice Pruitt stood beside him, her arms folded over a knitted cardigan.
"You're saying it needs another week?" Alice was asking. "That chair has spent enough time in your company to apply for residency."
"The glue needs another day before it's safe to sit in. The finish needs longer."
"My late husband built a porch in two weekends."
"And I've replaced three of his porch steps," Daniel replied.
Alice laughed, then noticed Victoria. Her expression changed to polite interest, but Daniel looked up as though he had sensed the newcomer before she appeared. He straightened and brushed fine wood dust from his hands.
"Ms. Sterling," he said. "Is everything all right with the wallet?"
"Everything is fine. I didn't come because of a problem."
"That's good." He gestured toward the open doorway. "Would you like to come in?"
She stepped inside, feeling immediately conspicuous in a tailored blazer and shoes that probably cost more than several of the chairs waiting for repair. The room smelled of cedar, linseed oil, and coffee. Tools hung in careful rows above a scarred bench, and shelves held jars of screws, old brass hinges, clamps, and neatly labeled pieces of wood. Each item had its place, yet none of the arrangement looked decorative. This was a room organized for use, not admiration.
Alice gave Victoria a measuring look. "You're the woman with the wallet."
"I am," Victoria replied, surprised. "Daniel told you?"
"Only enough to let me know he'd done something decent and somebody had offered to pay him for it. He left out how much, which usually means it was a ridiculous amount." Alice extended her hand. "Alice Pruitt. I live two doors down and try to keep him from forgetting that people need food."
Victoria shook her hand. "I'm Victoria Sterling."
"I know, dear. Everybody with a television knows. But you can call me Alice."
It had been a long time since a stranger had spoken to Victoria without either nervousness or calculated admiration. She found herself smiling. Daniel pulled out a chair and wiped a clean spot on the little table near the workshop window. "I was about to make tea," he said. "If you have a minute."
"I have more than a minute," she answered, and the admission surprised her.
The first part of their conversation moved awkwardly. Victoria asked about the table he was repairing, then caught herself speaking in the brisk tone she used when interviewing suppliers. Daniel explained the joinery without seeming offended, showing her how a careless repair could hide damage rather than correct it. Alice contributed a story about the time Daniel tried to repair a kitchen drawer while half asleep and installed the handle on the wrong side. By the time the water boiled, Victoria had laughed twice without planning to.
Alice eventually collected a parcel Daniel had wrapped for her and announced she was leaving before he could put her to work. At the door she turned back toward Victoria. "If you come around again, bring shoes you don't mind getting dirty. He acts civilized, but the man is happiest covered in sawdust."
"Alice," Daniel warned mildly.
"What? It's accurate."
After she left, a gentler silence settled over the workshop. Rain began falling beyond the window, lightly at first, then hard enough to make the roof sound like a drum. Daniel poured tea into two mismatched mugs and placed a plate of plain biscuits between them. Victoria looked at the chipped blue glaze on her cup and realized she had never owned a mug she would willingly use after its handle cracked.
"You didn't have to come across town to thank me again," Daniel said.
"I know." She watched the steam rise. "I've been trying to understand something."
"What?"