How about you? She asked. Do you like what you do? He seemed to consider the question genuinely which she wasn't expecting. I like fixing things.
He said finally. There's something satisfying about, you know, a thing comes in broken and you figure out what's wrong and you make it right. You get to see the result. You did that. That's yours.
He set down his cup. I don't get a lot of problems I can't solve in this job. He said it without any self-consciousness. Victoria thought about the last 12 months of her professional life. The acquisition that had stalled in arbitration, the board conflict she'd managed for 9 weeks without resolution, the talent crisis in her engineering division that had cost her 2 months of sleep.
She thought about the steady accumulation of problems that couldn't be solved cleanly, that required politics and patience and persuasion, and still sometimes just stayed broken. "That must be nice," she said, and she meant every word of it. Marcus looked at her, that same unhurried look she'd gotten on the road. Like he was seeing something and choosing carefully whether to comment on it. "You look tired," he said.
"Not as critique, not as observation designed to make her feel bad. Just as fact, delivered with the kind of directness that comes from someone who's learned to say what they see and let the other person do what they want with it. " "Victoria sat with that for a moment. " "I am," she admitted. Marcus nodded once, stood. Okay, he said. Let me get your car.
He drove back out to the county road with a flatbed. She rode with him again, and this time they didn't talk as much, and that was fine. She watched the Georgia Morning Pass outside the window, gas stations and Baptist churches and fields going gold in the early light, and felt something she couldn't immediately name. It took her most of the ride to identify it. Peace.
She felt something adjacent to peace, which was remarkable because she was sitting in a truck with a man she'd met 40 minutes ago. In a town where she knew no one, with no agenda and no assistant and no plan for the next 48 hours beyond existing, she should have felt anxious. Instead, she felt like she'd put something down, something very heavy that she'd been carrying for a long time. While Marcus worked on the car, she sat in the waiting area with a second cup of coffee and a magazine from 2021 and tried to remember the last time she had sat somewhere and done nothing. It took her a while.
She kept reaching for her phone which had signal now and stopping herself. She kept thinking about emails. She kept cataloging tasks and then incrementally she stopped. She read an article in the magazine about a woman in Vermont who'd started a quilt cooperative for senior citizens. She read it all the way through.
She read a recipe for blueberry cobbler. She looked at a photo essay about national parks she'd never been to. She didn't think about the board. She didn't think about the acquisition. She didn't think about the men at the gala and what they'd said.
At some point, she realized she'd been sitting there for an hour, and it had felt like 15 minutes. That hadn't happened to her in years. Marx came back into the office around 9. Good news and interesting news, he said. Give me the interesting news first.