I spent the rest of the afternoon and well into the early hours of Monday morning reading. Mom had first introduced me to Jane Austen in the seventh grade. She wasn’t well that year and we spent much of our time together with me reading aloud. Pride and Prejudice was first, Emma next. But eventually I had my own reading to do for English classes, so my indoctrination into Austen’s remaining novels was postponed.
The Austen I remembered was not the Austen I encountered now. That Austen was staid and challenging. And I’m sure my slow pace and mispronunciations must have driven my mother crazy—words like reverie and supercilious. She never mentioned it, though, or let her smile waver—Austen and I were her delights.
Mom’s devotion to those novels made sense to me now. Jane Austen understood people, and she was funny. Being an engineer, analytic and literal, I knew I was probably still missing nuances and subtleties and most of her brilliance, but what I caught was captivating.
She wrote with such precision that a single phrase evoked an emotional response. She elicited laughter, warmth, and even a sense of awe. Across two hundred years, I recognized her characters in the here and now. She wrote about people I knew.
Northanger Abbey struck me most forcibly. I found someone there so clearly drawn that I recognized words, phrases, even mannerisms. I finally put the book down at three o’clock Monday morning. I needed sleep. I would need a fresher mind to tackle all I’d found there.
I’d found Isabel.
On Monday morning, I stopped just inside WATT’s front door. Karen was hovering outside my cubicle. Her frosted hair, cut precisely to the chin, shifted back and forth as she scanned the office.
Three hours of sleep were not sufficient for this . . . I pulled my bag tighter on my shoulder. I could feel the instant she spotted me.
“Mary? A moment.”
Rather than point me toward my cubicle or into a conference room, she walked straight past me and pushed out the door back to the parking lot. On her way past she offered the tiniest of smiles. She was playing with me. Giving me what I wanted—almost. I steeled my expression and followed.
Karen pointed a few feet away to a small gravel area, landscaped with cacti and other native plants, and stepped right into the gravel. “Nothing is private in that building. How anybody gets anything done is beyond me.” She shifted around to secure firm footing before looking to me. We stood eye to chin. I slouched to compensate.
“I looked for you Friday, but you were gone.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure how to answer her. I wasn’t an hourly employee, and I hadn’t left until after six.
“I’m re-tasking you to battery improvements and the hearing device Benson is testing. It shows great promise. Ask him for his notes.”
“It’s his design. Shouldn’t he—”
She cut me off with a wave of her hand. “He can stay lead if necessary, but at this point, I’d like to put him on some new ideas I’ve got. I’ve assigned each engineer a physicist and would like you to streamline development along those lines . . . Is there a problem?” Her tone held a corrosive note.
“We’ve never worked that way.”
“WATT is too large now to work any other way. We need to eliminate inefficiencies and cross dialogue.”
I opened my mouth to ask what that meant, then closed it. I suspected I wouldn’t understand the answer. “I’ll talk to Benson today.”
“Good. Put all your designs for Golightly—is that what you called it?—on the shared server and let it be. We’re done with it. Not a penny more, but if someone can glean insights from the time and resources you’ve spent, all the better. I hate to call it a complete loss.”
“It’s not a loss at all. Already ideas have come from the work. And Golightly has incredible potential.”
“Not enough, Mary. We’re entering the fourth quarter and we’ve got some quick improvements and advances to get out the door. Margins are solid on the battery line, and we can push a couple new iterations. I’m encouraging you to use your days and company resources wisely.”
“I understand.”
“You brought this on yourself, you must see that. You robbed everyone, robbed WATT by holding your ideas so tight. And now? We simply can’t throw more resources at it. You must remember there is no I in team, but it’s emphasized a great deal in pride. I doubt that’s the reputation you want circulated, that you put yourself above the team and are the only one capable. It not only stifles synergy, creativity, and group cohesion, it causes irrefutable harm.”
“That sounds serious.”
She gave me a flat smile, unsure if I was agreeing or, as my dad would say, being sassy. I wasn’t sure either.
She then crunched her way out of the gravel. I glanced back to my car, wondering how my reputation would suffer if I hopped in and sped home.
I tapped the treadmill from eight- to seven-minute miles, then returned my gaze across the paths and park to WATT’s building. The sun hit one spot on the blue-black glass and it glowed like a magnifying glass on a sidewalk.
Almost four years ago we moved WATT out of Craig’s garage and into our present office space. We went from random casse-roles a friend or parent dropped off to espresso for breakfast, sushi for lunch, and two state-of-the-art gyms packed with the latest equipment and floor-to-ceiling windows, so that while running, cycling, rowing, or stepping, we could look out onto these paths and ponds and feel tranquil.
I did not feel tranquil—and hadn’t for some time.
A hand appeared before me. I pulled up and then stumbled. The treadmill raced on as I stretched for the emergency cut-off button. The hand hit it for me.
“Whoa.” It gripped my arm. “Hey . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I hopped off. The ground moved beneath me; I wobbled straight. “You didn’t.”
Nathan slid his hand to my shoulder and held me firm. “I said your name three times. Where were you?”
“Pondering my future with Karen.”
Nathan stepped back and looked around. I did the same. There were only three others in the gym. Two guys from Trillium and one woman from Stellnet.
“I heard about your morning talk. Was it that bad?”
“She was right. Nothing is private in this place. Who told?” I grabbed the towel off the side rail and attempted to press away the red and sweat from my cheeks.
“A couple people saw you talking as they arrived.”
Nathan’s hair needed a trim. Over the past month he’d cut his days at WATT from five a week to two. Other than our walk and talk on Friday, I hadn’t really looked at him in a few weeks.
Standing here now, I realized how much I would miss his smile and the odd sense of excitement-meets-comfort I found in his presence. And his ear—I would miss the way Nathan listened.
“I’m to help Benson on his hearing device. We met this morning and discussed some changes. It’s an amazing achievement really—the size of a few grains of rice. But that’s not what’s so bad . . . I keep replaying what Karen didn’t say. It’s more than one product, it’s where we’re headed that’s at stake.”
“That’s a hefty conclusion to draw from things not said.”
“But you don’t disagree.”
Nathan didn’t answer.
“And . . . she declared an all-hands-on-deck to prepare for fourth quarter, but stopped by my desk just now to make sure I knew it didn’t include me. She actually wished me well on my two-week vacation.”
Nathan smiled and addressed my insecurity rather than my statement. “She wants to systematize processes so they aren’t reliant on an individual. It’s not personal, and it’s the way corporations have run for years. In many ways, it makes sense. If all goes well while you’re gone, it proves her point.” He crossed his arms and stepped back again, bumping into the treadmill next to mine.
“But it’s not the way we work.”
“True, but she’s the one who has Craig’s ear right now, and that’s right, she should. He
hired her.” He raised his hand to stall my counterattack. “She’s got a long record of success, and he paid a lot to bring her on board.”
I pressed my lips shut.
He smiled again. “No comment?” He tilted his head toward the check-in counter. “I thought you might need cheering up, and I knew this would be the last day I’d see you before you go.”
I followed the gesture to the counter. There sat my favorite kind of cupcake, from my favorite shop. Hey Cupcake’s Red Velvet.
“Call it a commiseration-congratulations cupcake.”
“How did you know?” I dashed toward it.
“You lit up like a kid at Christmas when I brought cupcakes to celebrate Craig’s birthday. I figured I’d hit upon something special.”
“You did. Cupcakes surpass Christmas.” I picked it up and held it toward him. “Share?”
At his nod, I headed to the outer doors. “Come on. We’ll even go outside, just for you.”
“How can cupcakes surpass Christmas? That’s not normal.”
I yanked several hand wipes from the dispenser and hip-checked the door open to lead him across the dried grass, the mulch walk, and the tinkling stream to the pond, one of the few with surface-nipping koi.
“It’s normal when Christmas gets mixed up with life and . . . Let’s just say it’s not my top holiday anymore.”
“It was nice and cool in there.” He pointed back to the building.
I sat on the bench. “But you love the heat. It ‘warms your bones.’ Wouldn’t you rather be out here?”
“You remembered that?” Nathan dropped onto the bench beside me. “I was cold for three straight years in Boston. I don’t think I’ve gotten over it.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never left Texas. Not even for a vacation.” I peeled back the wrapper and pulled the cupcake in two. I held both pieces out.
“I won’t take your notion of defecting to Boston too seriously then.” He nodded to my offering. “You take the larger.”
“They’re the same.” I studied them. One was a little larger. I offered the smaller to him and leaned back on the bench.
“Good choice.” He chuckled and examined the bright-red cake. “Benson was championing you today. He said you’ve dug into a few of his projects over the past couple years and solved problems he hadn’t anticipated.”
I shrugged away the praise and focused on my cupcake—and waited. I knew Nathan well enough to know he was leading me somewhere.
Two bites and he spoke again. “Why didn’t you ask him or Rodriguez to help you with Golightly?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. He caught it and lifted his hands, one filled with half a cupcake, in surrender. “I’m just curious.”
“We both know you are never ‘just curious.’” I dabbed some cupcake off my lip.
Changing the subject or stalling too long wouldn’t work on Nathan.
“The math worked, so the configuration should’ve worked,” I explained. “It came down to artistry. It’s one thing to get help with the objective, but the subjective? We’ve always ‘owned’ our own projects here. A design bears our creative signature and is an intrinsic part of the designer’s professional identity . . . The failure felt like something within me, and that got too complicated. I can’t explain other than I didn’t, and maybe couldn’t.”
Nathan didn’t comment. Instead he nodded as if I’d satisfied his curiosity and nothing more needed to be said.
I followed his cue and bit into the cupcake again.
“This makes everything better. Thank you.” Cream cheese icing hit my nose. I rubbed it away.
“Craig saw me with the cupcake. He’d forgotten you were going on vacation and got all twitchy. He’ll miss you.”
“I’m glad someone will.”
“I’ll miss you.” Nathan’s voice held no teasing. It was soft and weighted. “I’m headed to Minneapolis to check out a new third-party logistics facility with Craig tomorrow, then I’m done. I’ll submit my final recommendations and be off to a new client before you get back.”
“I didn’t realize.” I crumpled the empty wrapper. “So that was a good-bye cupcake?”
“I hope not.” He twisted to face me. “Aren’t we friends, Mary? At least that?”
I felt my lips part. At least that? An image of Moira and her Heisman imitation floated to mind. Was she right? Had I missed something?
“We’re friends. And we’ll see each other, at least I hope we will. You should come out on Friday nights with us again. Will your next client be in Austin?”
“Perhaps . . . And I might take you up on that invitation. Friday nights will be less awkward when I don’t work here.” He smiled at my expression. “Consultants and clients aren’t a good mix socially. It’s like regular staff feel I’m a spy or a lawyer bound to secrecy. They either say nothing or everything, and I’m in trouble either way.”
“Did I do that?”
“Never. You stay right in that middle band. Half the time I’m not sure what you’re thinking. Amend that—more than half the time.” He faced forward again and took the last bite of his half of the cupcake. “No wonder you love these things.”
I peeked at my watch. It was still set to my heart rate: 155. Faster than it beat during a good run. I looked back to Nathan, wondering if he could hear it. I could certainly feel it.
He glanced at me, and I bent over my watch to hide what I was sure my face revealed.
“I should go. I have a lot to wrap up in two days.”
“Me too.” He stood first.
I started to walk away until a quick tap turned me back.
“I am sorry, Mary. I know Golightly meant a lot to you and I know . . .” He gripped the back of his neck. “Talk to her, okay? Keep Karen in the loop on everything. She’ll like that. She requires that. It might help smooth the way forward.”
“I doubt it.” I caught a sigh before it fully escaped. “Thank you, though. I’ll get over it soon enough.”
His face clouded.
“I will . . . I have to.” I looked back to the building and felt myself falter. I wasn’t sure if it was the heat, the run, or that I’d stood too quickly, but my vision swam in little stars. “You will keep in touch, right? Consider Friday nights?” I heard the slight panic in my voice and lowered it. “I mean, I’ll see you later?”
Doubt flickered through his eyes as if he was trying to figure out what I was really asking.
“Sure.”
We walked back in together, but I was focused on one thought and my need to remember it.
I’ll get over it—and him—soon enough.
The afternoon, a complete waste, was almost over. My desktops—actual and virtual—looked like those of someone about to go on a two-week vacation. Too clean. I’d also created two new wire figurines: a rhinoceros, complete with a tiny 22-gauge orange horn, and a bright-green bicycle. I was branching out.
Moira’s voice interrupted my daydreaming. “Why the long sighs?”
I looked up to see her leaning over the wall. “I had another talk with Karen today, and it wasn’t good.”
Moira nodded.
“It’s no big deal.” I rolled my chair a few inches away. “How much can it matter? It’s just a job, and engineers are always in demand.”
Moira pulled straight as if what I’d said made no sense. “You keep telling yourself that.” Then she raised an eyebrow and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Nathan’s headed this way.” She dropped out of sight.
I rolled back to my computer, and a moment later I heard a finger tap on the metal edge of the low wall.
“Hey you. I’m heading out.” He looked down and canvassed my desk. “A rhino and . . . I love the bike. What stymied you today?”
I smiled and shifted the bicycle. “Boredom. We’re waiting on a prototype of Benson’s earbud and I have no projects of my own right now.”
“Ah . . .” He propped himself next to me and picked up a giraffe made from 20-gauge black wire. “Henry
in finance told me you gave him a bear for his daughter’s birthday. Said it was her favorite gift. Will you make me one?”
“Take her.” I closed his fingers around the giraffe. “Her name is Pandora.” I laughed at his furrowed brow. “I made her while trying to work out Golightly’s power sequencing. Like Pandora’s box, each path led to endless problems. But”—I tapped his forefinger—“hope remained. Until now of course.”
He handed the giraffe back to me. “Hope still remains, and I’ll wait. You’ll make one while you solve that sequencing problem. Because I know you—you’re not giving up.” He grinned. “You’ll simply move it to your weekend ponderings. The wire creature that gets you there—that’s the masterpiece I want. Maybe a trout?”
“A trout?”
“Any fish will do.”
“That seems too easy.”
“Who said your solution isn’t going to be easy? I suspect it’s right there.” He tapped my temple so gently I sensed rather than felt he’d touched me.
He reached into his pocket and handed me a tiny brown paper bag. “I forgot earlier. I got something for you.”
“You already gave me a cupcake.” I shook out an oval-shaped stone. It was cloudy and unpolished, but cool and ground smooth. “Amber.”
“I’ve had it for a while. It’s the same as your necklace. I saw it in a shop in Clarksville and thought you might like it. The owner said it’s a rubbing stone, a stress reliever.”
“Thank you.” I touched my ever-present necklace with one finger, his stone within my palm. It was a little larger than a robin’s egg.
Movement around us caught my attention. People were listening. They always were. I dropped the stone back into its small bag.
Something passed through Nathan’s eyes. He scrubbed at his chin and nodded. There was an odd finality to the gesture.
“Thank you.” I repeated the words.
“You’re welcome.” Nathan leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “Have a great trip and please keep in touch. Let me know when you’re back.”
Before I could draw a breath, he was gone.
Chapter 6
The Austen Escape Page 4
