was courtesy, graciousness. It reminded her of a dog in clothes. To hell with him. If her husband didn’t have to work with him she would prefer not to see him again. He pulled her pack out of the rear and was about to carry it into the lobby. “Here, I can take that.” Her shirt was damp at the back when she got out of the passenger seat. The doorman offered to take the pack, but he said, “No, she wants to carry it,” and she was angry again at his assumption. The doorman left them. She turned to him and he passed her the bag so she was facing him, both hands awkwardly carrying the heavy case in front of her. 

“So. Good-bye. Good luck.” 

“Yes. I’ll look after them all. They’ll be safe.” 

She nodded. She was in shadow, and he, as if unaware of the harsh sunlight, stood in it. Then he came up to her, closer, and she thought for a moment he was going to embrace her. Instead he put his right arm forward and drew it in a gesture across her bare neck so her skin was touched by the whole length of his damp forearm. 

“Good-bye.”