Benson started talking before I sat. “I’ve been here all weekend. How are you here? I thought—Have you been here all morning? I would’ve called you, but I thought you were gone, then Lucas said he saw you. I need to show you this. It’s incredible. It works.”
Short, compact, and crackling with energy, Benson was my definition of a live wire. He was also the kindest man I’d ever met. He crossed the little hall, pulled a chair from another cubicle with a “Sorry, can I borrow this?” and tucked close to me. “You’re brilliant.”
I caught back a half laugh and returned the compliment. “And so are you.”
He sat straight. “I’m serious.” He opened his laptop and pushed it onto the desk in front of me. “I had no idea you were so far along, and then—your idea about the bats.”
After my run, I’d sent Benson an e-mail. I’d sent him my notes, but this was more. I wanted his help. There was something about the bats and the waves in which they flew from beneath the bridge that struck me as relevant to Golightly.
“The bats were a great analogy. They come out as individuals, but we see them as waves. Our eyes can’t differentiate—mass creates power. I watched a video, and they launch in surges too. You caught the ebb and flow—the sequencing. We need to run the power in dual pure sine waves at alternating rates.”
My jaw dropped. It was so simple. Nathan had said it would be. Nathan—
Nathan was gone.
“Here. I came in around four and worked up the schematics for a prototype. The lab guys are ready when you give the word.” He tapped on a different view, then, swiping his finger across his screen, he flew through several diagrams. I barely kept up.
I flicked his hand away to pause on the data sheet. “You did all this since last night?”
“I don’t sleep much, and when you sent all your files I got curious. Then last night when you asked for my help . . . You help me all the time, but you’ve never shared this. I was honored.” A red flush climbed his neck. He tapped his screen again and again. “It’s all here. Look . . . And this . . . And here.”
I glanced at him. Benson was nodding so hard his glasses lifted off his nose. “Maybe you were too close and needed another set of eyes.”
“I guess I did.”
He poked his screen so hard the colors distorted. “We can do this. You need to talk to Craig.” He popped up and looked toward Craig’s office. “Is he here today? You’ve got to take this to him. I haven’t seen him. It is Monday, right?”
“It’s Monday and he’s here.” I tapped my phone. “In one minute I’ve got ten minutes with him. But I sent all this to you because I thought you’d appreciate it. Karen has no interest in it.” I stood to go. “We’re not going to build it.”
“Why wouldn’t we?” Benson shoved the laptop into my hands. “Take it. You have to show him.”
I tried to shove it back, but he pulled his hands away. “This isn’t what I’m seeing him about,” I said. “You show him later.”
Benson’s eyes widened. “We have to design this. This is what we do. Acer wants a device. HP too. And we can get this out the door. Why would they want what’s already out there when we’ve got something better? This is why we’re here. It’s what we do.” He gently pushed the laptop, still in my hands, so that it rested against my chest. There was no handing it back.
Benson dropped his gaze. It darted around my cubicle as if seeing it for the first time. “You’re packed up. Are we all switching cubicles again? I just got mine right. Do you know how much time and productivity we lose with each move?”
“No. This is just me.” I glanced at my phone. “I’m up.”
Benson nodded and pushed on my back. “Will you find me after you tell him? I’ll wait. Should I wait here?” He pushed again. “No. I’ll wait at my desk.”
Moira met me outside her cubicle. “This is a mistake.”
“It’s not.” I kept moving.
“Please, Mary.” Her tone stopped me. “You love this job, and I actually don’t hate you. I’ll miss you.”
“I know. Me too.”
Moira turned back and I walked on. I glanced in the cubicles as I passed. Each was filled with the unique personality of the person who worked there. Dottie’s grandchildren covered every square inch of her gray fabric walls; the finance guy’s cubicle—what was his name?—was plastered with pinned spreadsheets overlapping each other. It reminded me of the wallpaper in one of the first-floor bathrooms at Braithwaite House—tiny black dots forming a seascape across the walls. Lucas, WATT’s head programmer, had covered all available space within his cubicle with inspirational quotes like Never Let Go of Your Dreams and You Are the Best You Ever.
I lingered on that thought. Nathan. The piano. Braithwaite House. Dancing. As I passed, I wondered if Lucas might let me steal that last one.
I rapped my knuckles on Craig’s office door. Other than the fully enclosed conference rooms lining two of the outer walls, his office was the only real room in our company.
“Come in.”
I opened the door and paused, as I always did, to take in his view. Craig’s outer wall was full glass and looked out over a fountain and the complex’s largest man-made puddle. That wasn’t terribly interesting. But on sunny days, especially if there was a breeze like today, sunlight refracted off the droplets of water the fountain shot into the air. The droplets came alive with the full light spectrum. Today it was glorious.
I looked back to Craig. His desk faced away from the wall. I wondered if he ever saw the view.
Eyes fixed on his computer, he started talking before I’d taken a step.
“Mary. Good. You’re here. Shut the door and come on in. I’m running late, of course, but I heard Dottie got you a cake. She’s a wonder with short notice.”
“Yes.”
“That’s what this is. Very short notice.”
“Yes.” I sat down.
He pulled his eyes away from his screen and fixed them on me. We called him the Tasmanian Devil, after the old Road Runner cartoon. He moved that fast and often simply spun in circles—his staying power never keeping up with his ideas. But when he stopped moving, he was disconcertingly calm. Like now.
“You heard somehow, didn’t you?”
“Nothing firm, but Karen isn’t a fan of mine.” I hedged. I was not going to tell him about Nathan and England, and I couldn’t define what I actually did know anyway.
“It’s all gone sideways, so if you’re leaving—”
“It’s time to move on.”
“Is it?” Craig shot straight. He looked upset he’d missed the memo.
“I’ll be at MedCore for the final interview Wednesday, but I’m happy to fill out the standard two weeks. I know we’re pushing for a strong fourth quarter.” The cool laptop, now sitting on my lap, reminded me. “Oh . . . Benson solved the Golightly heating issue and built specs for a prototype if you want to pursue it.”
“Benson?”
“I sent him all my data last week.” I opened the computer and walked around Craig’s desk. “If you look here—”