"May I hold on to the strap?"
Cal turned around. He felt the man's hand find his shoulder, then slide down until it found the canvas strap, the left one, and closed around it just above where it went through the broken buckle. The fingers found the shoelace. Cal felt them stop there, exploring the knot, feeling the shape of it, and then let go of it and settle on the strap again.
"All right," the man said. "Go ahead. Slow."
They went.
It was strange, being in front. He felt very responsible, like he was steering something much bigger than himself. He went slow, and he went around the trash cans, and when the passage narrowed between the plywood walls he said, "It gets skinny here," and the man said, "Thank you," and drew in behind him. Somebody came pushing the other way with a luggage cart and Cal said, "Hold on, stop," and they stopped, and let it by. The man's hand on the strap was light, but it never let go.
"What are you carrying?" the man asked as they walked. "In the box. If you don't mind."
"Coats. My aunt sends them from Columbus. My cousin's old stuff."
"Columbus," the man said, and was quiet for a few steps. Then: "You came down by yourself? To pick it up?"
"My mom's working."
"On a Saturday."
"She works a lot of days."
The passage opened up. Beyond it was the back part of the terminal, where the gates were, a long room with big windows looking out on the bays where the buses pulled in nose-first and sat rumbling, silver and blue, with their destination signs lit up over the windshields: CLEVELAND. HARRISBURG. NEW YORK. And there was a bench. There was a long wooden bench against the back wall, between Gate Six and Gate Seven, the old kind made out of slats with iron armrests every few feet, and over it there was a clock, a big round one with black hands. A woman with three kids was sitting at one end of it. The rest was empty.
"There's a bench," Cal said. "Under the clock. It's wooden. There's a lady at one end with some kids but the rest is empty."
The man let out a breath. Cal hadn't known he was holding it.