The old man had put his boots away.
That was how Tessa knew his refusal had become a decision. His daughter stood beside a packed bag in the doorway, still holding the coat she had brought him. The boots rested under the bed, toes turned neatly toward the wall. He sat in his house slippers with a cup balanced between his hands.
“I won’t be able to come back for you,” she said.
“I haven’t asked you to.”
“You’ll ask when the street’s empty.”
He looked down into the cup. Tessa stopped outside the threshold until the daughter saw her and beckoned. She had been called to explain transport, not decide which of them loved the other properly.
“The cart has a place for two,” Tessa said. “Your organizer asked me to confirm it.”
“One,” the old man answered.
