"I've got Noah to think about. You've got Lily. And we still have some talking to do, after yesterday."
"I know. I haven't forgotten."
"Good."
She took a breath. "For what it's worth, I don't want you to be a person I only call when something is broken."
Daniel looked down at his scuffed boots. He could have answered with a joke, or with something more romantic than either of them was ready to sustain. Instead he chose the truth he could keep.
"Then call me when nothing needs fixing," he said.
"I think I just did."
After they hung up, Daniel stood still long enough for an employee to ask whether he needed assistance. He looked at the bolts in his hand and realized he had been holding two sizes, one for a gate he had finished and one for a project he had not started. He laughed softly at himself, returned the wrong package to the shelf, and went to the cashier.
At home that evening, Noah gave a forty-minute account of the sleepover, complete with disagreements over board-game rules and a detailed description of the breakfast his friend's mother had made. Daniel listened, cooked dinner, and asked whether Noah had enjoyed being there. The boy said he had, but added that he liked coming home because the kitchen smelled right. Daniel was not certain what that meant and loved him for saying it anyway.
Later, with the dishes washed and Noah asleep, he sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee that had gone cold. Sarah's flowers caught the light from the small lamp above the sink. Daniel thought about Catherine's apology, her phone call, Lily's worries, and Richard's uncertain expression when his usual approach no longer worked. He thought about the words he'd told Catherine, that the order of repairs mattered and that a structure needed to be sound before anyone could trust the gate.
His heart did not feel sound all the way through. There were parts of it that had been rebuilt hastily after Sarah died, parts he had covered over simply because Noah needed breakfast and school and a father who could get up in the morning. He was beginning to suspect that a second chance at happiness might require more than finding someone who appreciated his usefulness. It would require allowing himself to be known even when he had nothing to offer.
On Tuesday, Catherine met James Whitmore at a small private conference room in Charlotte. Daniel knew she was going because she had told him, but he did not ask for a report or spend the morning checking his phone. He was on a job replacing steps on an old porch, and the property owner had questions about the joists that deserved his full attention. At eight-fifteen he took measurements. At nine he found a hidden section of rot and called the customer before doing anything else.
Catherine called at 9:47 that evening, after Noah had gone to sleep. Daniel was standing at the sink rinsing a mug when he saw her name. He answered with a calmness he did not entirely feel, bracing himself for news he could not control.