Wednesday the contractor's four-hundred-dollar payment finally arrived. Daniel deposited it before collecting Noah from school and took him out for burgers to mark the conclusion of something small but exhausting. When Noah asked whether they were celebrating, Daniel told him yes, but not every victory needed an expensive ceremony. The boy approved of that philosophy while ordering extra fries.
Thursday Daniel inspected a fence at another Whitfield Hollow property, a referral from one of Catherine's neighbors. The owner described an elaborate replacement proposed by a larger company, and Daniel spent nearly an hour showing where the structure could be preserved. He won the job because his explanation made sense, not because he mentioned Catherine's name. Later he called Marcus Benton to thank him for the original introduction.
"What did you do at that place, save somebody's life?" Marcus asked. Daniel replied that he had fixed a fence and a gate. Marcus made a noise of disbelief and said work traveled by reputation even when the person earning it refused to advertise. Daniel looked through the windshield at the next street and thought about all the hours he had spent learning how to make things hold, hours nobody saw and nobody needed to.
Friday at eight, while parked outside the new work site, Daniel received a call from Richard Hail. The number was unfamiliar, but the voice identified itself immediately. "I'd like to talk to you man to man," Richard said, with the confidence of someone who assumed that phrase gave him permission to interrupt another person's morning. Daniel looked at the unused tools beside him and asked what the conversation concerned.
"My daughter," Richard answered. "And what's happening at Catherine's house." Daniel felt himself become very still, the way he did when a piece of equipment made an unfamiliar noise. He told Richard he had completed the contracted repair and did not discuss Catherine's private life with other people. Richard replied that he had a friend in the neighborhood who had seen Daniel return after the work was finished.
"Your friend can tell you what truck I drive," Daniel said. "That doesn't mean he knows why I'm somewhere." Richard's voice tightened. He insisted that he had a right to know who spent time with his daughter, and Daniel answered that being concerned was reasonable but investigating a contractor through neighbors was a poor substitute for asking Lily how she felt.
Richard said he understood his responsibilities as a father. Daniel considered that and replied, "Then be her father on an ordinary Tuesday. Ask about her project. Learn what book she's reading. Show up when nothing in particular is happening." The silence that followed was unexpectedly long.
"You don't know anything about my relationship with Lily," Richard said. This time his voice contained something rougher and more genuine than polished indignation. Daniel agreed. "I don't," he said. "I only know what a child sounds like when she's carrying a question nobody has answered. And I know a custody petition can make a daughter feel like a piece of property people are negotiating over."