When the seatbelt sign chimed, Arthur did not press the issue, though he kept his eyes on the side of my face.
At the baggage carousel in Chicago, the crowd pressed tight against the metal barrier.
My heavy black suitcase slid onto the moving belt, and before I could reach for it, Arthur stepped forward and lifted it clear.
“Here you go, Diane,” he said, setting it gently at my feet.
“Thank you, Arthur,” I said. “I can take it from here.”
“I am heading downtown myself,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “Why don’t we share a cab? The queue outside is going to be forty minutes at least.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I have some preparatory calls to make on the way,” I said.
My hotel confirmation voucher was peeking out from the side pocket of my briefcase, the bright green logo of the Madison Hotel clearly visible.
Arthur’s eyes lingered on the paper for a second before he gave a polite nod.
“Of course,” he said. “Business first.”
