He told her everything about flight 1,47, about Marsh, about the press statement, about Friday. He told it the same way he'd told Whitfield the timeline. Straight ordered no embellishment, but this time his voice wasn't quite as steady because this wasn't a federal conference room and Diane wasn't a government official and he didn't have to perform composure for her. She listened to all of it. When he finished, she was quiet for a moment and then she said the thing she always said when she said the right thing, which was nothing decorative, just the truth.
Are you scared? She asked. He considered lying or qualifying or finding some version of the answer that made him sound more solid than he felt. Yes, he said. Good.
She said, "You should be. This is real. Being scared of real things is not a weakness. It's just accurate." He looked at her. I keep thinking about the people on that flight.
I know 112 people. And somewhere in those maintenance logs is a signature on an inspection that didn't happen. And I filed a memo 2 years ago about exactly that procedure. He paused. If I had pushed harder, if I had gone outside the company sooner.
Stop. Diane said firm. Not unkind. You followed every correct channel repeatedly. The failure is not yours.
The people who signed off on inspections that didn't happen. That's on them. The person who acknowledged your warnings and filed them away. That's on him. She held his gaze.
You don't get to carry their sins. Marcus, he was quiet for a moment. When did you get so certain about things? She gave him a look that was somewhere between fond and exasperated. I work in a library.
I've read approximately everything. It clarifies your thinking. He laughed. Actually laughed, which surprised him. It surprised her too, and she smiled.
And for a moment, the weight of flight 1,147 and 43 Mayos and federal investigations lifted just slightly. Just enough to let something else breathe in the room. Stay. She said, I'll make coffee. You shouldn't be alone with this tonight.
He stayed. They sat at her kitchen table until almost midnight talking about things that had nothing to do with Callaway or the FAA. About Zoe's science project, about a book Diane was cataloging at the library, about a trip Marcus had taken once to Pacific Northwest that he'd never told anyone about. Small things, real things. A kind of conversation that grounds a person when everything large in their life is in motion.