Ruth considered her. "Was it somebody you know?"
"A customer. Maybe a customer. He looked like he'd come from a farm. He asked a question about a door latch, and I decided he was wasting my time."
"Did he waste it?"
"No. I didn't give him the chance."
Ruth poured hot water into two cups. She moved slowly but without help, which Tessa had learned was the safest way to show respect. "When I worked at the library," Ruth said, "we had a boy who came in every afternoon wearing the same jacket. The teachers thought he was there to get out of detention. He was studying for a scholarship exam. I almost told him he couldn't use the computers as long as he needed."
"But you didn't."
"I did, the first day. Then I felt foolish and I asked what he was trying to do. He showed me a practice test with half the questions wrong. We spent six months on those questions. He got the scholarship."
Tessa rubbed her forehead. "And this is where you tell me to find the man and apologize."
"No. You already know that. I'm telling you an apology doesn't rewind the first day. You still have to do something different on the second."
They ate soup from mismatched bowls while the television announced a dry-weather warning. Ruth turned the volume down and asked whether Tessa would come to her rehabilitation appointment on Tuesday. The clinic had been asking about transport options because the regular shuttle was unreliable. Tessa said yes, then remembered a decal on the rear window of a green truck. BELL COUNTY ACCESS. She had seen the name on a donation card beside the therapy room.
"Mom, does your shuttle have a number on the side?"
"Of course. Route Three. Why?"
"Who runs it?"
"The Bell people. They were the ones who took me home when you were stuck at work the day I was discharged. Lovely driver. She carried my books all the way to the door."
Tessa set down her spoon.
She had spent the afternoon treating a stranger's clothing as evidence of what he could not afford. She had not considered what he might already have given away.
- • •
At seven the next morning, Grant Havel called a staff meeting in the showroom. He liked standing beneath the enormous digital clock, particularly when it displayed the minutes remaining in a sales period. Tessa, six sales consultants, and two finance employees gathered among the display vehicles while the cleaning crew finished the windows.
"We've got forty-eight hours to correct the month," Grant announced. "Every conversation needs an intention. If a person can't answer basic buying questions, you send them to the website. We don't host field trips."
The consultants nodded. Some meant it. Others nodded because Grant kept a written record of who appeared enthusiastic.
"We are not running a charity," he continued, and several people laughed. "Anybody who wants to make friends can volunteer at the shelter. Here we close contracts."
Tessa felt Noah watching from the service doorway. He was holding a stack of maintenance forms. Behind him stood Mina Alvarez, the service director, whose dark hair was braided beneath a red bandanna. Mina did not smile at Grant's jokes. She had run the workshop long enough to know that a signed contract was the beginning of some people's trouble, not the end.
"Before you go," Grant said, "a word about yesterday. If somebody turns up asking technical questions without a sales appointment, you don't let a trainee start a seminar. That's why we have service appointments. Clear?"
Noah lowered the papers. Tessa raised her hand. Grant looked surprised.
"What if the technical question determines whether they buy?" she asked.
"Then you find out they can buy first."
"And what counts as finding out?"
Grant's smile became narrow. "Their ability to write a check, Tessa. Not their poetry."
After the meeting she found Noah near the parts counter. He was entering serial numbers into a computer and pretending not to see her.
"You had the manual yesterday," she said.
"I did."
"Can I look at it?"
He turned in the chair. "For a customer?"
"For a question I should have answered."
Noah opened a digital service bulletin and scrolled to an illustration of an emergency release cable. "There are two systems," he explained. "The electrical actuator and the manual release. On the regular model it's simple. On the accessible conversion, the routing changes because of the lift frame. They sent us a revision three weeks ago."
"Why?"