“He kissed you knowing you were getting fired?” That’s when I noticed Benson.
“Not quite. I mean it wasn’t like that.”
“It wasn’t close to like that.” I looked up. We all did.
Nathan stood behind me. He looked good. Tired, but good. Except his eyes—the dim lighting darkened them. Or anger. I flashed mine to Moira.
“I probably should have mentioned I texted him.” She looked between us. “I thought maybe you’d want to celebrate that you were staying, or say good-bye. You weren’t in the office for his last day Friday, and you said earlier you didn’t see him. But I guess you did, didn’t you? Except I didn’t know that.”
“It’s okay, Moira.” Nathan spoke to her, but he watched me.
Without another word, Moira scooted to a nearby empty table. Benson followed her.
Nathan pulled her vacated chair farther away from mine and sat down.
“You didn’t call. I didn’t know you were at WATT.” I tapped his knee just to touch him.
Nathan said nothing.
“Are you going to talk to me?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t going to talk to you.” He slid his messenger bag to the ground and shrugged out of his jacket.
Moira placed a beer in front of him.
He glanced up and thanked her. I sent her a wobbly smile. She threw me an encouraging one and drifted back to the two-top behind us.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Karen?” I scooted my chair one inch closer.
“Nothing to tell until Craig committed, and it wasn’t my place once he did. We worked all weekend to restructure around her.”
“But . . .”
“I needed time, Mary. What was I supposed to do? Call you and tell you everything was fine now? Beg you not to quit? Beg you to talk to me? To trust me? I already asked those things of you.”
“True. And when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound good.”
“It didn’t feel good either. But since you’re staying now, I guess I’ll need to get used to you. Craig signed me on for a short-term engagement while he finds a new CEO. He’ll announce it to you all in a couple days, so please keep it quiet until then.”
“That’s—” I wanted to say wonderful, exciting, but his closed expression killed my enthusiasm and my hope—and the “used to you” was not encouraging.
Till this moment, I never knew myself.
I laid my hand on Nathan’s knee. He didn’t shirk away—a good sign. “Nathan? Nothing is what I thought.”
“And yet you were so sure.” Nathan sank, like all his bones had suddenly softened. “If you’d have talked to me, Mary, and given me a chance, I would’ve told you something. Not everything, I couldn’t have done that, but I was on your side.” He took a breath; it came out on a sigh. “You said I didn’t see you for a year. But what did you do to me? You had all these ideas in your head, and those were more important to you than trusting me and giving me a chance.”
“You’re right.” I focused on my hand. It was easier than looking into his eyes. “I was so busy licking my wounds from who knows how long ago, and somehow they were all wrapped up in Isabel and Golightly, and life seeped into my work and I couldn’t ask Benson or Rodriguez for help. And what’s worse? I blamed everyone else, and that didn’t feel good. When I heard you on the phone, it felt like the punishment was deserved and I was justified in running away. It oddly felt like the most courageous thing I could do.”
I shot Benson and Moira an apologetic look. It was clear they were eavesdropping. They both smiled as if they’d known all along and had already forgiven me. Their grace gave me the courage to continue. “When you share stuff, especially your heart, you can lose it.”
Nathan watched me with a look of disbelief.
“I know . . . You know that. It just took me time to understand it was worth it.” I glanced back to Moira and Benson, but I spoke to Nathan. “I’m very sorry.”
I shifted my chair to fully face him and to cut our audience from my sight line. “Did Craig tell you Benson solved Golightly’s power problem? It was as easy as you said it would be.”
“He did?” Nathan perked up. Benson shook his head and pointed at me. “You did?”
I couldn’t stop my grin. “I was running yesterday, and the bats all flew from under the bridge in a series of waves. Almost two million bats, and at some points, it was just a cloud. You couldn’t see the individuals. They were beautiful en masse, and I knew it fit. It fit Golightly and it fit me—and all I wanted to do was share it with you. But after the way I left, I didn’t—call you, that is. I did e-mail Benson.”
“About the bats?”
“No. Yes. About the fact that they flew out in waves and that I knew it meant something important, that the individuals remained individuals, but were more powerful in a group. That was for Benson. But also, they were amazing and oddly beautiful when together. That’s what I wanted to share with you, because I didn’t know if you’d seen them or the Stevie Ray Vaughan statue. And I knew you’d love both because . . . I love you and I was sad you weren’t running with me to see it all and I was afraid you might be gone.”
Nathan cracked a smile.
“What?”
“I’ll say it again; what must it be like to live in your head?” Now he was watching me with such a tender look, my bones went soft.
“Again, I’m sorry, Nathan.”
“I am too.”
I threw my arms around him and kissed him on the cheek.
“You quit your job.” He laughed, a mix of exhaustion, exasperation, and affection. “Craig sent me your e-mail, by the way. It was very decisive. I thought you were headed to Boston.”
I scrunched my nose. “I know and I would be, but Karen made me so angry I lost it. It wasn’t so much about me—I was still heading out the door at that point. It was about everybody else. All your questions came back to me, and I finally understood what you were asking me to see—like the bats becoming one.” I glanced over to two implausibly blank faces. I focused on Nathan. “I shut my eyes to all of it and I didn’t do justice to anyone, least of all you.”
“I took on a new client Friday.”
“You just said. WATT.”
“That happened over the weekend. I took one in Boston, at half my rate so I could secure the work fast. Three days a week for the next six months.”
“Why?” I sat up straight.
He narrowed his eyes.
“No, really, I was horrible. I left you standing there.”
“You were. You were stubborn and dreadful and annoying.” He chuckled. “But I know you, Mary. I’ve known you for a year and I love you. I thought some time in Boston might help you believe it.”
I threw my arms around him again.
This time he dropped a kiss on my forehead. “What are we going to do?”
“Are you kidding? Skype, FaceTime, phone, text, e-mail, snail mail, and direct flights. We’re going to be fine. And you’ll be at WATT two days, plus there are weekends. Six months will fly by.”
He twisted his chair to face me. “Promise?”