You eating? Eventually that means no. Jordan almost smiled. Then he heard a mechanical rattle from behind the counter. He tilted his head.
Rachel saw him notice. No. Jordan set down his portfolio. Rachel, I already called somebody. When? Yesterday.
And he said, "Tuesday." The refrigerator beneath the dessert case rattled again, then gave a low metallic groan. Jordan crouched. You keep milk in this. And pie.
That's a serious situation. Rachel put both hands on her hips. You've been in school all day. Jordan was already rolling up his sleeves. Hand me the flashlight.
20 minutes later, he was on one knee behind the counter with a screwdriver between his fingers and his phone flashlight balanced against a stack of napkins. Rachel watched him tighten the loose mounting bracket around the condenser fan. You know, she said, "People usually charge money for this. People usually don't feed me peach cobbler." That was 3 weeks ago.
I'm still working off the debt. Rachel shook her head. The refrigerator settled into a clean, steady hum. Jordan stood. Keep an eye on it.
If the temperature rises overnight, unplug it and move everything. Rachel reached for the register. Jordan pointed at her. Don't. I wasn't doing anything.
You were about to pay me. I was about to mind my business. Do that for free. This time, Jordan did smile. It lasted until he turned toward the front window.
Walter Brooks stood outside in the rain with two grocery bags at his feet. Jordan was through the door before Rachel could say anything. "Mr. Brooks," Walter looked up. At 68, he still carried himself with the stubborn straightness of a man who had spent decades refusing to admit when something hurt. I got it.
Jordan picked up both bags. I can see that. I mean, I can carry them. I know. Walter reached for one.
Jordan moved it gently out of reach. Walter frowned. You always this disrespectful to your elders? Only the difficult ones. Walter's mouth twitched.
They started down the block. Rain shone beneath the street lights. A Route 417 bus rolled past behind them, spraying mist from its tires. Jordan noticed Walter wasn't swinging his right arm naturally. Shoulder, little stiff.
How little? Little enough to be none of your business. Jordan slowed. Walter sighed. Since yesterday.
You call your doctor? I have an appointment Monday. Good. Jordan shifted both bags into his left hand and offered Walter his right arm at the curb. Walter looked at it.
I am not 90. Then you should have no trouble stepping over that puddle. Walter took his arm anyway. They crossed. Halfway down the next block, Walter glanced sideways at him.