"My husband always said a car is a promise, not a price," she replied.
Brad gave a short, humorless laugh. "Then tell your husband to buy it."
For a moment she had to look away. Walter had been dead for four years, and there were mornings when she still instinctively turned toward his side of the bed. Hearing a stranger speak so casually about him hurt more than Brad could possibly understand. She did not tell him. She wanted to know who he was when he thought he was speaking to someone who could do nothing to him.
"He always was good at choosing things that lasted," she said.
"Lady, I have an appointment arriving. Please clear the area."
He summoned Tyler from the side corridor. "Wipe that door. She put her hands all over it."
Tyler appeared with a clean cloth and a spray bottle. He glanced at the immaculate handle, then met Margaret's eyes. She recognized the small embarrassment on his face. He was not embarrassed by her; he was embarrassed for the person giving the order.
"Yes, Mr. Keller," he said. "I'll take care of it."
"I'm sorry for the trouble, young man," Margaret told him.
"It's no trouble, ma'am. Did you get a chance to see the sticker?"
"I did. I still think it's a beautiful car."
Tyler smiled for the first time that morning. "The interior is even nicer. I helped prepare it yesterday. The seat stitching took us forever to get clean after shipping."
"You work in detailing?"
"Wash bay, mostly. Porter, cleanup, moving things when I'm authorized. Whatever needs doing."
"Do you like working with cars?"
His face changed. The question was so simple that it caught him off guard. "More than just about anything," he said. "I like figuring out why things work."
Brad looked back from his desk. "Brooks. Less talking. More cleaning."
Tyler lowered his eyes. "Yes, sir."
Margaret stepped away. She didn't want her curiosity to make the young man's day harder. She wandered through the displays for another twenty minutes, taking her time with the features printed on the information cards. The floor was spotless, the cars impeccable, and the smell of expensive leather drifted faintly from an open SUV door. Everything looked designed to make people feel important, provided someone had already decided they mattered.
When she began feeling the ache in her left knee, she approached Brad again. "Young man, is there somewhere I could sit down? Just for a moment."
He barely looked up. "Not on this floor. Seating is for customers."
"I was hoping to become one."
"Then you should have made an appointment and brought proof of financing."
She looked at the private lounge, where two empty chairs waited behind the glass. "I wouldn't need a private office. A folding chair would do perfectly well."