She stepped out again. The tension around her mouth had eased, revealing a face that was striking less because of its features than because of how intensely alert it remained even after the immediate problem had passed. Daniel recognized that sort of alertness, too. It belonged to people who were accustomed to being responsible for more things than anyone could see.
"What do I owe you?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"You bought the supplies. You gave up your time."
"I already had the supplies." He wound the cloth around his tools. "And you needed help."
She reached for a slim black wallet, but Daniel shook his head. He had no desire to negotiate a price for something he had decided to do freely. Her expression sharpened, not with anger but with confusion, as though she was searching for the missing condition in a transaction that appeared to have none.
"You haven't even asked my name," she said.
"I figured you had enough on your mind."
"And why did you stop? Really?"
Daniel looked at his phone. It showed 8:56, and the numbers seemed to turn heavier in his palm. "Because you looked like you needed help," he said. "If I drove past, my daughter would ask me why I didn't stop. I wouldn't have a good answer."
The woman followed his glance to the thin folder beneath his arm. The logo on its cover was visible now: GRANT LOGISTICS, printed above his name and the time of his appointment. Her face changed with a speed Daniel did not understand.
"You're interviewing there?" she asked.
"Trying to."
"At nine?"
"Yes."
"That's almost twenty minutes away."
"I know."
She stared at him. A bead of rain moved down the edge of her jaw, and she made no effort to wipe it away. "You knew you would be late," she said.
"I knew it was possible." Daniel tried a smile. "It wasn't a complicated repair. I hoped I could make both things work."
"What's your daughter's name?"
"Lily."
"Does she know you're out here?"
"No. But she knows I help people when I can."
The woman lowered her wallet. For a brief moment, she looked older than she had beside the dead car, not from fatigue but from some private recollection that had reached her unexpectedly. "She's fortunate to have you," she said. Daniel shook his head. "I'm the fortunate one."
They exchanged names. Hers, she said, was Victoria. She did not volunteer a last name, and he did not ask for one. He made sure the hood was properly latched, wished her luck with her appointment, and hurried toward his own car.
As he drove away, Daniel tried not to look at the clock. He failed within the first thirty seconds. The intersection ahead stayed red through two full cycles, and his phone announced a slower route because of congestion near the downtown exit. He tapped the steering wheel once, then stopped himself. There was no point punishing the car for a decision he had made with his eyes open.