Their landlord was losing patience. Someone else would stop. The woman was not bleeding. She was not in immediate danger. Andre had spent years sacrificing his own time for other people.
Maybe this one morning he was allowed not to. Then he imagined Leah kneeling on a sidewalk while strangers stepped around her because they had someplace more important to be. Andre squeezed the brakes so hard the rear tire shifted. He turned the bicycle around. Ma'am, are you okay?
The woman looked up, startled by the fact that someone had finally stopped. "My heel snapped," she said, gesturing toward the broken shoe. "My phone is dead, and I need to get across the street." Andre leaned his bicycle against the planter. Let me see it.
Her eyes dropped to his suit. You're going somewhere. So are you. Andre knelt and examined the damaged strap. He kept a compact repair pouch beneath his bicycle seat containing tire patches, a small multi-tool, spare wire, and the random bits of metal he tended to save because he had learned never to throw away something that might become useful later.
He found a narrow clip and began working it through the torn strap. The woman watched him. Most people just kept walking. Most people probably have somewhere to be and you don't. Andre glanced toward the tower.
I have an interview at 8:45. The woman's expression changed immediately. Where? Andre nodded toward Marlo Dynamics. There you should go.
This won't hold unless I lock the strap against the side. I can figure it out. Andre tightened the clip. You'll figure it out faster if the shoe stays on your foot. That earned the faintest smile.
He gathered the last of her papers, handed them back, and offered his arm. The nearest crosswalk was crowded, and the broken heel made it difficult for her to keep pace. Andre helped her across. At the opposite curb, she steadied herself. "My name is Clare."
"Andre." Her eyes moved from his face to the bicycle, then to his watch. "Andre, go. You sure? I am now.
Go. He started to turn away. Clare called after him. And good luck. Andre ran.
He locked the bicycle to a rack half a block from the building because riding through the pedestrian traffic would have taken longer. By the time he reached the revolving doors, his breathing was rough and sweat had gathered beneath his shirt collar. The clock in the lobby read 8:58. 13 minutes late. Andre gave his name to the receptionist who checked the schedule and made a call.