“We’ve got this amazing space up here and we’re using the dungeon downstairs for lunch instead? Why?” My head is already spinning with plans Caleb will hate, and the walking program has given me enough confidence to hope I might be able to pull them off.
She doesn’t answer until she’s done typing. “It was something about cutting costs.”
“But there shouldn’t be a cost to maintaining a break room,” I argue. “The food wasn’t free, right?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. It was before my time. I heard Caleb went through some personal stuff a few years ago and changes were made.”
I assumed Caleb lives for his job. Maybe it isn’t entirely by choice.
I’M SITTING down by the shore Thursday night with the twins when Caleb appears, still in suit pants and a button-down.
His eyes flicker to my bare legs and remain there a moment before jerking away. “I have a conference call soon,” he says, “but do you have a minute to discuss the interview?”
I consider pointing out that I’m off work, an entirely foreign concept to him, but he’s clearly stressed out, so I remove my phone from the Adirondack chair beside me and gesture for him to sit.
He stretches his long legs in front of him, looking ridiculously out of place. One false move and he’s going to ruin those pants.
I hold up a hand to block the dying sun as I meet his eye. “I was just thinking about that raft you and your friends tried to build. Remember that? You’d have been twelve, maybe?”
He frowns. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Are you kidding? It was the highlight of my week. You guys spent the whole damn day on it, but some older guy was with you and when he climbed on, it freaking exploded.”
“Beck.” His smile is a bare thing, nothing like what it was when he was young. “He wasn’t older. He’d just hit six feet before the rest of us had even entered puberty. That was a fun day.”
The sun is beginning to slip over the horizon. I slide my feet into the sand, burrowing them there for warmth. “They all seemed like fun days.”
He hitches a shoulder. “I thought so, yeah.”
There’s something darker hidden there. “You don’t sound sure.”
He exhales. “It was hard for my mom. She bought this place hoping it would get my father to work less. Instead, he was just relieved we were gone so he could work more.”
“Did he ever slow down?”
Caleb rakes a hand through his hair. “Not exactly. TSG was his company, but he got into some financial trouble and died of a stroke right after I left Wharton. I’ve been trying to sort it out ever since.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. Did he actually want to take over at TSG or did he have other plans that got derailed? I’m not sure how to ask, though, or even if I should.
“It was a while ago,” Caleb says, shrugging. “Anyway, are you ready for tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure.” I narrow my eyes at Sophie, who seems to be threatening Henry with a bucket of mud. “We’ve still got no results, but also…the reporter’s going to ask me how the company has changed, and it hasn’t really, right? I mean, be honest—you hate everything about this.”
“Look, I just think people should settle for the benefits that were outlined in their employment contracts. Everyone expects a morning massage and Frappuccino waiting on their desk these days, as if they’re doing the company a favor by showing up at all. I might be willing to throw money at something if you can prove the potential benefit, but I’m not writing you a blank check so you can blow it all on therapy dogs and incense.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of meditation candles and healing crystals.”
His mouth twitches. “I’m not at all surprised by that.”
Sophie and Henry stop bickering and Sophie runs to me with a bucket of sand. “What flavor do you want?” she demands.
I hold out my hands. “Can I have strawberry?”
She shakes her head. “I-D-H-T.”
The code game again. Sophie’s now the only child in her class who joins the first graders for reading, which makes Henry’s struggles that much more obvious. I feel guilty for introducing it in the first place and guilty that I’d take Sophie’s success away from her if I could, to protect Henry. Your children grow and change—the one constant of motherhood is the fucking guilt.
“I don’t…have that?” I guess. “Ummm…mint chip?”