The kind that breaks a room open, rolling through 30 odd employees who'd been holding their breath. Marcus turned to look at his daughter with the expression of a man who loves someone unreservedly and is completely unable to maintain dignity around them. You're not helping, he told her. I'm helping, Lily said. Viv crossed the lobby and crouched down in front of the girl, not thinking about it, just doing it.
I was hoping you'd approve, she said. Lily studied her with those enormous dark eyes. Daddy smiles more when you're around, she said simply. I noticed. Viv felt something crack open in her chest, not painfully.
The way ice cracks open in spring. The way water finds its level. She looked up at Marcus, who was watching the two of them with an expression she hadn't seen on an adult face in a very long time. Saturday, she said again. Saturday, he confirmed.
Saturday was objectively the best evening Vivien Callaway had spent in 4 years. Lily ordered chocolate after 11 minutes of deliberation and made no apology for the process. She explained to Viv in extensive detail how a water cycle worked using the condensation on her milkshake glass as a demonstration. She asked Viv three questions that no adult would have asked. Do you have a cat?
What's your favorite color? And don't say I don't have one because everyone has one. And why does your voice sound different than it does in the building and waited for real answers? Viv said, "No cat, navy blue. And I think I'm a little more nervous here than I am at work."
Lily considered this. Good nervous or bad nervous? Good, Viv said, and found that she meant it. Marcus was different outside the building, not different in personality. Still the same steady easy warmth, but without the slight professional correctness that the building environment imposed.
He was just himself. He told her about how he and Lily had gotten to Nashville from Memphis. Originally moved after Cheryl died, needed a change that felt like forward rather than just somewhere else. He talked about Cheryl without hedging, which Viv hadn't expected, acknowledging the loss as part of the fabric of his life rather than something to protect her from. "She would have liked you," he said at one point.
She liked people who had edges. She said edges meant you'd been through something. "What did she say about people who built walls?" He turned the compass over in his hand. She said, "Walls and edges aren't the same thing.
Edges let people in. Walls keep people out. A pause. She was right about most things. Viv was quiet for a moment.
I've been building walls, she said. I know, he said. I don't think you need me to tell you that. No, she agreed. I think I needed someone to not be afraid of them.