"My sister noticed you because you helped her. I read your application because she asked. Those are not the same thing."
Daniel looked toward the hallway where Lily was asleep. He did not want another raised hope, especially one manufactured by a powerful woman's gratitude. Yet he recognized that Naomi was taking care not to promise anything the company had not earned the right to promise.
"Tomorrow morning?" he asked.
"Nine. The same building. If that works for your family."
"It works," he said. "And Ms. Grant?"
"Yes?"
"Tell your sister the battery connection should still be tested properly. Roadside work isn't the same as a shop inspection."
Naomi gave a short laugh. "I will."
After the call, Daniel sat for several minutes without moving. The house settled around him with the familiar nighttime noises of an aging furnace and the occasional car on the street. He reopened the automated rejection email, then closed it again. The opportunity had returned, but he could not shake the feeling that the rules around him were changing in rooms he had never entered.
He went to Lily's bedroom. She slept beneath a quilt Rachel's mother had sewn when she was born, one hand curled beside her cheek. Her school notebook lay open on the floor, and a stuffed fox had slipped halfway from the bed. Daniel lifted it back beside her pillow, turned off the lamp, and stayed in the doorway longer than necessary.
In the morning he chose the same navy suit. There was no reason to pretend to own another one. He ironed the sleeves himself, made Lily scrambled eggs and toast, checked her backpack, and called his sister to confirm that somebody would be there when she came home. Lily regarded him over her orange juice.
"Another interview?"
"Apparently."
"The same people?"
"Some of the same people."
She pointed her fork at him. "Don't forget the questions you wrote down."
"I won't."
"And don't say you're sorry for being a dad."
Daniel set down his cup. "Where did that come from?"
"You say it when you talk about your résumé. Aunt Megan heard you practicing."
He smiled despite himself. "Your aunt shares a lot of information."
"She's right, though."
He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. She was nine years old and should not have needed to teach him how to defend his own life. He promised to remember.
At 8:50, he stood again before the revolving doors of Grant Logistics. The weather had cleared, making the building appear almost transparent against the morning sky. Celia Moss saw him approach and rose from her desk.
"Mr. Carter. Good morning."
"Morning. Is the appointment still on?"
"I checked it twice," she said. "You're expected upstairs."
This time she gave him a temporary visitor badge and escorted him to the elevator. The ride to the eleventh floor was smooth and so silent that Daniel could hear the paper of his résumé moving in its folder. He looked at his reflection in the polished wall. The suit was clean. The shoes were presentable. His stomach felt much less cooperative.