"No," she said quietly. "They're not. I'm not going to suddenly be different," he said. It was honest in a way he wasn't always honest. "I've been doing this for 30 years.
I'm going to have to work at it. I know, but the Heartley thing. He exhaled. That was too far. I knew it was too far.
I did it anyway. Yes, I'll call Hartley. Thank you. He looked at her for a long moment. This program of yours, tell me about it.
She looked at him carefully, checking whether this was another arrangement in disguise, another absorption. His face was open in a way it almost never was. Not tonight, she said. I want to bring it to you when it's ready. On my terms, as a pitch, not as a family conversation.
He thought about this, nodded slowly. All right, she stood. She walked to the door. Lauren, she stopped. Daniel Brooks, Richard said.
He's a good man. She turned and looked at her father. I know, she said. She walked out in the hallway out of his sight. She leaned against the wall for 10 seconds and let the feeling move through her.
Not triumph, not relief exactly. Something quieter than both of those. The feeling of a door that had been locked for years being unlocked, not thrown open, not torn off its hinges, just unlocked. She pulled out her phone. She typed to Daniel.
I talked to him. His reply came fast. How did it go? She thought about it. About her father's face when he'd said her mother was usually right.
About the specific weight of that word usually the admission inside it. She typed better than I expected. Worse than I hoped. About right for real life. His reply.
Are you okay? She smiled at her phone in the empty hallway. She typed, yeah, I actually am. She meant it. Across the city.