Laura looked at him. What about you? That question needs a category. You travel constantly. I'm a structural engineer.
That sounds like an explanation for bridges, not personality. It explains airports and the rest. Daniel rinsed a plate. I move where the projects are. Family.
His hands slowed. No children. Laura waited. He dried the plate before speaking again. My wife died 11 years ago.
Laura's expression softened. Daniel saw it. We were separated when she got sick. Laura stopped. He placed the plate in the rack.
That sounds complicated. It was nothing more. Frank came back carrying two cardboard boxes and pretending not to have heard any of it. Community center. Laura looked at the boxes.
What's in those decorations? They say tax records. Old box. You wrote 2004 on it. Historic decorations.
Daniel took one. Frank looked pleased. Laura pointed at him. You don't have to. Daniel sighed.
There it is again. Later, they were unloading folding tables and boxes at the community center. Laura grabbed the heavier end of a table. Daniel changed sides without asking. I had that.
I know. Then why did you switch? You can either accept help or drop your father's table. That's manipulative. Effective though, she tried not to smile.
Failed. They carried the table inside. An older woman arranging paper lanterns near the stage turned toward them. She saw Daniel, stopped, then looked at the wooden box under his arm. Her face changed.
Samuel's boy. Daniel at 55 did not appear delighted by the word boy. He let it pass. The woman stepped closer. "Nora Ellis," she said.
I dispatched for the department back then. Daniel shook her hand. Norah looked at Frank, who had just entered behind them. Then back at Daniel. Frank never told you what happened that night, did he?
Frank set the second box on a table. Nora, what? He came all this way. Daniel looked between them. I'd prefer the version nobody edited.
Frank folded his arms. Norah did the same, then sit down. They took chairs near the stage. Laura stayed standing until Norah pointed at another. You, too.
This family has hidden enough things standing up. Frank muttered something. Norah ignored him. The fire was at an old warehouse on Jefferson Road. 30 years ago, Frank, Samuel, and a young firefighter named Tom Grady went inside.
Laura knew Tom's name. Frank had mentioned him before. Always as Captain Grady. Never as the young man in the report. Part of the ceiling came down, Norah said.
Tom panicked, left his position. Samuel went after him. Frank's jaw tightened. He was 23. He was trained.