"I was here on Tuesday," David replied.
"Four whole days. We were about to put your picture on a missing-person poster."
David laughed, and Walter looked satisfied. The older man noticed the fatigue behind it, but he did not ask for an explanation immediately. Instead, he pointed to the commercial refrigerator beside the pantry. It had been coughing and shutting off all afternoon, and a repair company wanted an evening service fee the kitchen could not easily afford.
"I already told you not to make that face," Walter said as David turned toward the machine.
"What face?"
"The face that says you're calculating how to take it apart before I've even told you what's wrong." Walter sighed. "You're supposed to be a guest."
"A guest can still use a screwdriver."
Ten minutes later David was kneeling on the tile floor, flashlight in his hand, checking a loose electrical connection and cleaning dust from a vent that had not been serviced in months. Walter watched, arms folded, as David asked him to turn the power back on. The compressor started with a healthy mechanical hum, and cool air moved through the open compartment. David listened for a full minute, then nodded to himself.
"It should run, but that unit's getting tired," he said. "I'll have someone assess it properly on Monday. You need a replacement plan."
"You're talking like an engineer again," Walter said. "Ordinary rich people write a check and disappear."
"Sounds boring." David wiped his fingers on a shop rag. "Besides, you know I like to see whether the repair worked."
Denise Harper passed behind them carrying a stack of trays with one arm while the other rested awkwardly against her side. David noticed a support brace around her wrist and immediately stood to take the load. Denise was fifty-eight and usually the first volunteer to arrive; she had been injured in a workplace fall and was waiting on a compensation decision that seemed to require a new form every week.
"Those are too heavy for you," he said.
"You come here once and start bossing everyone around."
"I come here twice a week, and those trays are still too heavy." He set them on the counter, careful not to make the help into a performance. "How's your wrist?"
"Better when I don't have to talk about it." She smiled, and David knew to let the subject rest. Later, when Denise stepped into the pantry, he tucked an envelope with grocery money into a side pocket of her canvas bag, where she would find it after she got home. Walter saw the movement and shook his head.
"You're terrible at being discreet," the older man murmured.
"Then forget you saw it."
"I forget things every day. This one might take effort."