He glanced at it. crew supervisor probably about a rescheduled inspection. He silenced it, made a mental note to call back in 20 minutes. Emily noticed, "You can take it. It's not urgent. Are you sure?" Nothing on that phone is more urgent.
Then he stopped. She looked at him. He had started a sentence hadn't fully formed, and now it was hanging in the air between them, half built, the rest of it clearly implied. Nothing on that phone is more urgent then he could finish it a dozen safe ways than getting to work on time than checking in with my crew. Then reviewing the schedule.
Any of those would do. Any of those would let them both pretend he hadn't been about to say what he was actually about to say. He didn't finish it any of those ways. He looked at Emily Carter, who had fallen asleep on his shoulder, who had taken his photograph before she knew his name, who had called him at 10:00 at night. Not because she wanted rescuing, but because she wanted a voice, his voice.
And he said, "Then this, just that, then this." Emily went very still. Not the still of someone who hadn't heard. The still of someone hearing something they've been listening for. Then she said, "Marcus, I know. I don't." She stopped, darted over.
I don't want to be something that complicates your life. You don't complicate it, he said. You clarify it. She looked at him like that was the last thing she'd expected him to say. That's that's a very specific thing to say.
I've had time to think about it. How much time since November? November? She repeated. That's when That's when you almost fell, he said.
And I caught you. And I've been thinking about it with varying degrees of awareness ever since. She looked down for a moment. When she looked back up, her eyes were doing the thing. The bright, careful thing, the holding back thing.
I don't know how to do this right now, she said. Not with my dad the way he is. Not when I feel like I'm barely I'm barely staying in my own lane. I don't know if I have enough left to I'm not asking you to have enough left, Marcus said. I'm telling you I'm here.
That's different. She studied him. What does here mean? here means you don't have to figure out how to get through things alone anymore. Not the mornings, not the 10:00 calls. He kept his voice steady, kept it the same level it had been all morning because he knew if he pushed too hard, she'd pull back.
And that wasn't what she needed. Wasn't what either of them needed. It doesn't have to be everything at once. It just has to be honest. She was quiet for so long the train passed two stations.