The silent, ivory anonymity of the room overwhelmed her as soon as he shut the door behind him. Everything here was so pleasant, the bland furniture, the deep carpet, the thick drapes that sealed off the room from the outside world so effectively, but it all lost its charm once he’d departed. Soon, a chambermaid would come in and strip the bed and tidy up the bathroom and make it seem as if nothing had ever happened here. That was supposed to be the appeal of hotel rooms when you were having an affair, so she didn’t understand why it didn’t appeal to her at all.

She was putting on her shoes when room service buzzed, and she hobbled over to open the door, one shoe on, one off. A slender man with cropped graying hair was holding a tray at his shoulder. “Room service?” he asked. He was smiling and handsome, but Jane couldn’t help thinking he was too old and intelligent to be doing this. What personal or professional disappointment had led him to this kind of employment? Obviously, it was going to be one of those awful afternoons when everything was coated with poignancy.

“Just put it on the table by the window,” she said.

He took the covers off the plates and started to arrange two settings on the round maple table; towering roast beef sandwiches, a half bottle of red wine, a bud vase with a yellow rose, the entire romantic late afternoon lunch she’d been imagining when she’d called in the order.

“Don’t bother with all that,” she said, digging through her bag. “Just leave it.”

“Shall I open the wine?” He had a deep, cultured voice. An actor, poor man, which would explain everything.

“No, it’s fine, really. I’ll do it myself.”

He fussed a bit more, then presented her with the check and a pen. “If you’ll sign here . . .”

“I’ll pay for it,” she said. She didn’t know what the arrangement was with the room, but the last thing she wanted was to start racking up charges against Dale’s account. She handed him a stack of bills and told him to keep the change. Kindness, she hoped, was made up of small generous gestures like this that added up bit by bit, no matter what you did to those nearest to you. Although at this moment she felt more like a spoiled, extravagant Lady Bountiful. As she let him out, a woman passed in the hallway holding the hand of a child, an unsteady little boy of about three, overdressed in a gray flannel suit with short pants and a cap.

“Hello, young man,” the waiter said. He knelt down and shook the boy’s hand.

“Can you say hello?” the mother cooed, grinning proudly.

“Hello, mister,” the boy said.