I slide open my top drawer, the only one I keep unlocked. In a cracked silver frame, our four goofy faces yuck it up in the wind off Penobscot Bay. This makes no sense. I stand the mangled picture, missing its glass, on my blond oak desk. Betsey had no reason to attack my office and shove me off the edge. From what I know, things got heated with security, but her hard work was more responsible for our success than anyone else on my team. If I’d just taken the time to follow up after the interview like I said I would. Did she really feel like someone was working against us, or was she on the precipice of a breakdown, and I refused to see the signs?
I suck in my lips and attempt tolet it go—the sentiment Hardwin gently barked as I left his office.
My eyes close against a rush of tears. As effective as I’ve been at shoving away my emotions, in this moment of solitude, I leak. I tip my nose to the ceiling and take a huge breath. It should be a day of celebration, and instead I’ve become untethered.
I sit at my desk and tell myself, in no uncertain terms, to get a grip. Clicking my laptop into the docking station, I run my fingers through a long sequence of passcode digits. I bypass my inbox. After today, it’ll all calm down. I’ve got no more favors to bequeath. Wecan squeeze no more bodies, no matter how prominent, onto the balcony.
I switch tabs on my computer and briefly review the plans for tomorrow’s town hall. I’ve sprung for the spicy salmon rolls from Hari and a mashed potato bar with slices of filet. We call it a town hall, but it’s an office party. No television cameras or New York Stock Exchange confetti for the teams of professionals who spent many, many nights at their desks making sure performance algorithms tracked the global markets.
Guilt pricks me.
Have I done enough to appreciate the analysts, lawyers, data scientists, marketers, and sales professionals who contributed to the success of our ETFs? Maybe we can get some of those wicked cookies everyone loves?
I pick up my cell phone.
An assault of missed calls from an unknown number peppers my screen. Betsey hasn’t stopped. After Candace tracked me down yesterday, I followed her instructions and blocked Betsey’s contact. I thought the warning coming from our head of security would be enough, but at around nine last night an unknown number began to call my phone. This one is new. Last night when I spoke to Candace, I should’ve insisted on speaking to Betsey but now, after signing the order, there can be no contact.
I quickly swipe away from my phone’s home screen and raise our family calendar, noting it’s already late morning. Shoot. Reid’s at his weeklong robotics camp and I forgot to say goodbye. He tried to talk us out of making him go. Not because he doesn’t love robotics, but because his best friend is spending his fall break on a camping trip out west. Our twelve-year-old takes time warming up to new people.
I open the tracking app. One of my favorite things, especiallywhen I fiercely miss my people, is seeing all my dots where they’re meant to be.
I freeze.
Reid’s dot is in downtown Scarsdale, stacked on top of my husband’s. Why did Clint allow our son to talk him out of camp? Not only am I away too often, but Clint relies on me to be the heavy.
Bitterness coats the back of my throat as I press my husband’s contact.
Scratching noises and then I hear Clint’s voice. “Meredith?”
“Where’s Reid?” My voice catches.
“Uh, in his bedroom. What’s wrong?” Clint’s tone shifts, an urgency in his words.
“He’s supposed to be at camp. Why did you let him stay home? We discussed this before I left. I thought—”
“Slow down. What are you talking about? It’s ten o’clock in the morning, Mer.” A door slams. I start to speak, but Clint continues. “I take him in a few hours.”
My fingers wiggle my mouse and refresh my calendar. Camp check-in isn’t until 1p.m. today. I sink back into my chair. “It’s been a day already. I started looking at Tuesday’s plans for the—anyway, I guess I got my timing screwed up.”
“And you needed to micromanage me from thirty miles away.” His voice is quiet but brutal.
I straighten. “I was concerned Reid wasn’t at camp. I’m not micromanaging.”
“Right, because you never make mistakes.”
My breath stutters. No, I certainly do make mistakes. “Maybe this is too much.” I slowly close the lid of my computer.
“You think?” He clears his throat. “Look, Meredith. For now, it is what it is. If we can’t solve it with a counselor, we’re not going to solve it on the phone.”
“You’re right.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Can I get back to putting away the unused hiking gear?” The emphasis onunusedis unmistakable. I am not done paying for my choice yesterday.
“Sorry to interrupt.” I end the call and lower my damp face into my hands.
How do we protect our marriage from us?
4
