I texted, she said. You were driving. He looked at his phone. She had texted. He'd missed it.
He sat down at his desk. She looked at him over her book. You look different again, she said. Different how? Like you did that first day when she paid you, she said.
But more he thought about that about how a child's observation is often more precise than an adult's selfanalysis. It was a good day, he said. Did something happen? The FAA referred us to a new client, he said. 14 Aircraft.
She did the arithmetic immediately the way she always did. That's more than sterling crown. Yes, he said. She looked at him for a moment. Is this because you didn't sign the certificate?
She said when she wouldn't pay you. He thought about how to answer that honestly. That's part of it, he said. But it started before that. It started because I spent 19 years building a reputation for not signing things I wasn't certain about.
The certificate was just the moment when that reputation became visible to people who hadn't seen it before. She considered that. She turned a page in her book. Then she said without looking up. Mom would have said the same thing.
He looked at her. She used to say that integrity is just discipline over time. Maya said. She said, "Most people have integrity for a day, some for a week, but the ones who actually build something have it every day for years until it's not even a choice anymore. It's just who they are." Malcolm sat with that.
His wife had said that. He remembered when she'd said it. He hadn't known then that she was was also describing the man she'd married. He knew it now. "Go do your homework," he said.
I'm already doing it, she said, holding up the book. That's not homework. That's a novel. It's an assigned novel, she said. Homework.