“I can check whether he’d feel comfortable meeting you.”
About an hour afterward, she returned my call.
Frank had agreed to meet.
I arrived at the transportation depot shortly after lunchtime.
Rows of yellow school buses filled the parking area beneath an overcast Ohio sky.
Several were being washed.
Others remained parked with their hoods open as mechanics inspected the engines.
I spotted Frank standing beside Route 24.
He wore an old navy-blue jacket and was cleaning the windshield with a cloth.
Standing nearby, I realized he looked older than I’d previously noticed.
His hands appeared weathered, with small age spots across the skin.
He turned around when he noticed me approaching.
“Mrs. Carter.”
“Mr. Lawson.”
He folded the cleaning cloth.
“How’s your little girl doing?”
His simple question nearly brought me to tears.
“She’s doing alright.”
He nodded once.
“Good.”
I’d rehearsed my apology throughout the entire drive.
