“Watch out.”
Claire looked over.
“For what?”
“You volunteer once, they own you forever.”
Claire laughed.
The woman introduced herself as Evelyn Moore.
Seventy-two.
Retired elementary-school teacher.
She had known Daniel since he was a teenager.
Claire watched him kneel beside a little boy whose wooden wagon wheel had loosened.
Daniel took a screwdriver from his coat.
Fixed it.
Handed it back.
No speech.
The boy smiled.
Claire asked:
“He does this every year?”
Evelyn followed her gaze.
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Since Sarah died.”
Claire turned.
“His wife?”
Evelyn looked at her more carefully.
“You know Daniel?”
“He helped me last night.”
Evelyn smiled.
“Of course he did.”
Claire heard the story slowly.
Sarah’s illness.
Daniel leaving his career.
The promise he made before Sarah died.
Evelyn did not romanticize it.
“Sarah was worried he’d disappear into work after she was gone.”
“Daniel works when he’s hurting.”
“She knew that.”
“What did he promise?”
“That Emily would never grow up wondering whether her father chose work over her.”
Claire looked across the room.
Daniel was tightening Emily’s scarf.
Emily complained.
Daniel ignored her and fixed it anyway.
Claire had spent years admiring people who sacrificed everything for ambition.
She suddenly wondered why the reverse sacrifice was so rarely described as success.
Emily noticed her.
Her whole face brightened.
“Claire!”
Daniel looked up.
Surprise crossed his face.
Then a smile.
“You made it home.”
Claire approached.
“I did.”
“No problems?”
“Battery replaced this morning.”
“Good.”
Emily asked:
“Did you eat the cookies?”
“All of them.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
“All?”
Claire looked at Emily.
“I had a stressful night.”
Emily nodded solemnly.
“That’s what emergency cookies are for.”
Daniel laughed.
Claire stayed.
Not fifteen minutes.
Four hours.
At first she stood awkwardly near the edge.
Then somebody handed her a box.
She carried it.
Someone asked her to label meal bags.
She did.
Nobody recognized her for almost an hour.
Or if they did, they did not care.
Claire liked that.
At three, one organizer approached Daniel.
“We’re short on children’s gifts.”
“How short?”
“Maybe twenty.”
Daniel looked toward his truck.
Claire heard.
He had seven custom toys scheduled for January deliveries.
Three had already been finished.
He could replace them.
It would cost time.
Money.
He handed over the truck key.
“Take what’s in the back.”
The organizer hesitated.
“Those aren’t donations.”
“They are now.”
“Daniel—”
“I know who ordered them.”
“I’ll call tomorrow.”
Claire watched.
After the woman left, she said:
“You just gave away customer orders.”
“Temporarily.”
“You’ll remake them.”
“Yes.”
“How many hours?”
“Depends.”