"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?"