Daniel came up the brick path and stopped at the foot of the three wide wooden steps.

He looked different without his tailored navy blazer and silk tie.

His blue shirt was open at the collar, and his leather shoes had gray road dust across the toes.

“Are they all packed?” he asked.

“They’re inside by the door,” I said, standing beside the top post.

He looked up at the iron hooks that held the carved mesquite sign, then lowered his eyes to his wrists.

He slid his wristwatch back and forth against his skin twice, quickly.