He went to bed. He did not sleep immediately. He thought about what Patricia had said about the criminal investigation moving carefully and about patience and about how everything slowed down now. He had expected to feel frustrated by that. He didn't.
He felt instead the particular calm of a man who had done everything in his power and was now waiting on forces larger than himself to complete what he'd set in motion. He knew this feeling from the military. You plan the mission, you execute your part, and then there are other people in other positions doing their parts. And you trust the system. You trust it because you built it to be trustworthy.
Because you filed 43 memos making sure someone somewhere would have what they needed when the time came. The system was working. He slept. Four weeks passed. Then five, then six.
The charter flights continued. Marcus had picked up a regular contract with a medical transport company out of Atlanta that had him flying twice a week. Predictable income, clean work. He liked medical transport. The people who hired him understood urgency, respected precision, didn't cut corners, the antithesis in every practical way of Callaway Regional Airways.
Zoe started a new semester, settled into fourth grade with the adaptability of a child who had been watching her father and Nat adapt her into our cubs, the skill by proximity. She made a new friend named Amara whose mother worked at the hospital and who Zoe reported with great seriousness was the best person at four square in the entire grade. Vanessa came to min on a Saturday in early October. Marcus had told Zoe the week before had sat her down at the kitchen table and said simply that her mother wanted to see her that she was coming to visit and that it was okay to feel whatever she felt about that. Zoe had been quiet for a long time.
Then she'd asked with characteristic directness. Is she staying? No, Marcus said. She's coming for the day. Is she going to say she's sorry?
He paused. I think she is. Zoe had nodded slowly. Okay, she said. And then can Amara come over after?
Yes, he said. Okay, she said again. And that was all. Vanessa arrived at 11 in a car Marcus didn't recognize. Knew which told him something about where her life was without being a commentary on anything.
She stood on his porch looking different from what he remembered and exactly the same. The way people always look when you haven't seen them in years and then you do. She said, "Hi, Marcus." He said, "Hi, Vanessa. Come in." He left them alone in the living room, went to the garage, and worked on a neighbor's alternator for 2 hours, and let whatever needed to happen between a 9-year-old girl and her mother happened without an audience. When he came back in, Zoe was showing Vanessa her science project on the kitchen table.
The solar system, planets labeled in Zoe's careful block letters, the sun constructed from yellow foam with what appeared to be tremendous artistic commitment. Vanessa was listening with her full attention, leaning forward, asking questions. Real questions, not performed ones. Marcus stood in the doorway for a moment without them seeing him. Then Zoe looked up and said, "Daddy, did you know Jupiter has 79 moons?" "I did know that," he said.