On the train, his phone filled with messages from the dispatcher and a missed call from an old colleague who had heard that something unusual was happening at Bennett Global. Daniel did not answer the colleague yet. The story was still confidential, and he did not want his name entering somebody else's version of events before the people involved had finished their work. Instead, he looked at the photo Sophie had sent of her model crossing. The little red light was shining proudly above a cardboard sidewalk. Under the picture she had written, It works for six whole seconds now. He smiled and texted back, Tonight we aim for seven.
Their apartment building sat on a quiet side street where the sidewalks had cracked around the roots of old trees. The entry buzzer stuck in cold weather, and somebody on the second floor always cooked onions late enough for the smell to drift into the hallway. Daniel liked the building because the neighbors learned one another's habits without demanding explanations. Mrs. Alvarez from across the hall kept an emergency key for him, and he watered her plants when she visited her sister. None of them knew much about his former work. They knew he helped carry heavy groceries, showed up for the building's repair days, and never forgot a child's birthday once it had been mentioned.
Sophie was sitting at the kitchen table when he came home, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail and a pencil tucked behind one ear in an imitation of a serious engineer. She looked up as the door opened. For a fraction of a second, Daniel saw the question that still lived behind her eyes, the small fear that one day he might begin arriving late and leaving early again. Then she saw the batteries in his hand and grinned.
"You remembered!"
"I made a formal commitment to the chief engineer. I take those seriously."
"Did you remember dinner?"
Daniel stopped. "I may have remembered electrical supplies before food."
She rolled her eyes. "There's pasta in the fridge. Mrs. Alvarez made too much again."
They warmed the pasta together, cleaned the little circuit contacts, and replaced the batteries. When Sophie pushed the button, the miniature crossing signal changed colors, flashed three times, and made a cheerful buzzing sound that was only slightly louder than necessary. Daniel congratulated her. She informed him that the buzzer needed adjustment, the base needed stronger supports, and the explanatory labels still weren't straight. He offered to help, but she said she wanted to do the difficult parts herself.
"You can hold the ruler," she permitted. "And you can read the instructions out loud if I ask."
"A limited but honored position."
"Exactly."
After dinner, Sophie noticed the folder sticking out of his bag. "What's that?"
Daniel hesitated. He had spent much of her life keeping financial uncertainty away from her until it became impossible to hide. He didn't want to promise a new job that might not materialize. But he also didn't want her to grow up believing that the adults who loved her were required to keep every difficult decision secret. He placed the folder on the table and explained that he'd helped with a complicated meeting at work. The people involved had appreciated his help and wanted to discuss a different position.