I am in hell.
“He knows we’re coming, right?” I say, more to myself than to Kristen. Carol had confirmed it all late Thursday afternoon, once Gil was back from his trip, and I’d followed up with a call that evening. He’d warned me there wasn’t much of a point, that he’d made his decision, but I’d insisted. “We’re in town for another meeting,” I’d lied. “We’ll just make a quick stop by.” He’d chuckled and said he and Romina wouldn’t mind the company.
Before Kris can answer me, the man himself has stepped out onto the porch, wearing a green cable-knit sweater and jeans with a hole in the knee; he’s got one hand holding a mug of something steaming and the other stroking the length of his steel-gray beard. Behind him, a short, dark-haired, bespectacled woman in a red sweatshirt follows, also holding a mug. She raises a hand and waves enthusiastically.
Kristen says, “They’re like Mr. and Mrs. Claus!” and I shoot her a look. She smiles sheepishly, pink washing her cheeks. She’s always so pretty.
Out on the porch we shake hands, meet the two holly-gatherers—Tanner and Allison—who turn out to be Gil and Romina’s son and daughter-in-law. Tanner pats Gil’s shoulder and says to me, “You’re the one trying to take my genius old man away from us,” but he’s got a smiling, easy demeanor about him that tells me he knows we’ve got no real shot at this, either.
“Kristen and I, yes,” I correct him. Beside me, Kris shifts her body slightly so her arm presses lightly, almost imperceptibly against mine. That’s not a thank-you; it’s a warning, or at least a reminder. It’s not the time to be corrective, she’s saying. Touches like this—they’re normal for us on the job, a way we’ve learned to communicate with other people in the room. But I’m feeling them all wrong now, my brain and body scrambled, one sending misguided messages to the other.
“This is beautiful,” Kristen says, smiling and looking out over the white expanse of land. “Whether we convince you or not, Gil, this is quite a sight. Thanks for letting us drop by.”
Gil and Romina beam at her, both of them almost tripping over each other’s words to offer information. Gil says he’d give her a tour if it weren’t for “those fancy shoes” she’s wearing, and Romina points out the cottage, a former garage, which they’ve been renovating in case “certain someones”—Tanner and Allison smile—want to spend extended time on the property for “oh, any reason at all!” I’m guessing this means we’re not supposed to talk directly about the grandkid on the way, and my suspicion is confirmed when Kristen only gives a smiling, knowing look to Romina, as if they’re old friends.
I trust whatever she’s doing, though, and so when we move into the house and Kris completely avoids talking business, I follow her lead. I sit at the small round table in the eat-in kitchen that only has room for four, a relief since I don’t expect Tanner and Allison—who retreat down a narrow hallway—are going to be much help, and I avoid getting out any of the materials Kristen and I brought. I take a mug from Romina and pretend to enjoy what tastes to me like hot apple juice; I fake the sweet tooth I don’t really have and eat a frosted cookie in the shape of a candy cane.
I feel the distance between me and Kristen like it’s a wall.
“Now, Gil, I know you said you’ve made up your mind,” she says eventually, and I sit forward in my chair, letting her take the lead, both because it’s the best option for this and because I need to get my brain back online.
She’s good; she’s always good—she makes it a conversation, not a pitch. She doesn’t assume the concerns they have; she asks about them, and each one she’s got an answer for—a contract revision that offers more time off, paid flights back here, more options for working remotely. She asks whether funding for stewardship of this property while they’re away would help—a regular groundskeeper, updated security systems, whatever. But just like I can feel the wall between me and her, I can feel the wall Gil and Romina are putting up between themselves and us.
I feel tense, slightly desperate, and it’s unlike me. Sure, I’m intense about work, but this—emotion. I feel all inside out, same as I’ve felt since the kiss. Losing this job feels like losing her, especially now that I know how she felt about that kiss.
Awkward, she’d said.
“Your grandchild,” I say quietly, in deference to the privacy Tanner and Allison seemed to want. “The two years you spend over there—it would be doing something good for your grandchild.”
I can feel Kristen’s eyes on me. This is unexpected. I don’t usually do family stuff.
“How do you figure?” Romina says. She’s got a look on her face like I’m a robber baron, sitting here on a pile of cash I’ve hoarded for myself.
“It’s not about the money, because of course you know about the money you stand to get here. Private schools, college, whatever you’d want—you know already you could do all that.”
Gil looks up, eyebrows raised. Maybe it’s not over.
“It’s about the tech. It could change the world, make it a safer place for your grandchildren, all of them. Fresh, drinkable water for huge numbers of people from water that could otherwise kill them? You know how much this helps the world, Gil. And you’re doing it in a way that doesn’t ruin the—”
“I know,” Gil says, and Romina purses her lips. He rubs a hand over his beard and under the table, Kristen moves so that her
