Marcus reached the corner at nine forty-eight. He wore his pressed navy suit, a clean white shirt, and shoes that shone because he had spent too long polishing them. He stood outside Bellamy's for a moment, watching the red carpet through the Wexley's bright windows and feeling foolish. Everybody inside seemed to have a role in the day's ceremony. He was an unemployed doorman who had been told to appear in front of his former workplace without being given a reason.
Alma emerged carrying a paper cup of tea. "For the road," she said.
"I don't know whether I can drink it."
"Then hold something warm while you wait. It's what you did for that lady. Let somebody do it for you."
Marcus took the cup and crossed the street. He stood to one side of the front steps, away from the carpet, and watched expensive cars draw up beneath the canopy. A guest he had helped during a winter medical emergency recognized him and gave a brief wave. Marcus waved back before remembering that he was no longer on duty. The gesture made him smile despite his nerves.
At nine fifty-five, an unremarkable black sedan stopped half a block away from the main entrance. Odessa stepped onto the sidewalk without assistance, wearing her old brown coat and faded scarf, carrying the small overnight bag herself. She declined the driver's offer to bring the car around and walked the final distance beneath an umbrella Celeste had left for her. She wanted to enter the building exactly as she had when she was merely an elderly guest looking for shelter, without the procession that made managers change their faces.
Marcus saw her approaching and descended two steps. "Morning, ma'am," he said. "The rain's back."
"It has a habit of arriving when there's something important to see."
He offered his arm because the pavement was slick. She accepted it and looked up at him. "You came as yourself."
"I don't know how to come as anybody else," Marcus said. "Not convincingly, anyway."
Inside, Whitley stood near the center of the carpet with his eyes fixed on the entrance. The official arrival was three minutes away, and he was already imagining the moment he would greet a person who could decide his entire career. A bellman at the door glanced toward Marcus, recognition showing on his face. He lifted one hand in greeting, then lowered it when Whitley turned.
Odessa entered first, still wet along the hem of her coat. Marcus followed a step behind, carrying the bag. The sight of them stopped Whitley so completely that for a moment even the muscles at the corners of his mouth forgot how to produce a managerial smile.
"You have got to be kidding me," he said.