“Yes. And I’m leaving with him.”
For a moment, all she could hear was the wheelbarrow settling against the pavement. Beyond the glass doors, people were still crossing the lobby. Outside, the three women who had watched the whole exchange stood perfectly still.
Her father looked from his daughter to the man in the dust-streaked olive shirt.
“Does he know what you’re giving up?” he asked.
The worker took his hands off the wheelbarrow. “I know she should get to decide.”
Her father turned back to her. She recognized the pause. It was the one he used in meetings when he expected somebody else to fill the silence and make a concession. This time she let it stretch.
Finally, he asked, “Where will you go?”
“Dinner,” she said. “He was going to take me to the place by the bus stop. You can come, if you’d like.”
Her father glanced down at his charcoal suit. “I’m probably overdressed.”
“So am I.” She brushed a little dust from the sleeve of her blue jacket. He nearly smiled.
The worker picked up the wheelbarrow handles. “I need to put this away first.”
“I’ll wait,” she said.
One of the women near the entrance held the door open for her father. He thanked her, then looked through the glass at the elevator and the people waiting for him upstairs.
“Go ahead,” he told the woman. “I’m staying out here.”
By the time the worker came back, her father had taken off his jacket and folded it over his arm. The three of them walked to the corner together. At the crossing, her father asked the man his name. He listened to the answer and said it back to him, getting it right on his second try.