Page 81 of Ten Years and Then…
“I promise, Daniel. Ten years from today. May 15, 2001. If I’m still single, if I’m not with anyone. Ten years from today I’ll be here. Right here. Waiting for you.”
He laughed. How could he laugh at that? She was—she wasn’t just baring her soul, she was tearing it open, and he was laughing?
And then she understood why, and she laughed, too. Not just because it truly was funny, but because—just like the white gold—she hadn’t even realized the other meaning of her words.
“The first time we ever spoke,” he said “The first time I heard your voice, you were talking about 2001: A Space Odyssey. And that’s when you want us to meet again.”
She knew he’d make the promise now. He had to.
“I promise, Nora. Ten years from today. If I’m not with anyone, I’ll be here. I’ll be waiting for you.”
She kissed him, one more time. One last time. He kissed her back, and didn’t let her go until there was a sound off in the distance, way on the other side of the quad. Trumpets blaring.
“That’s your cue. Go, Daniel. Go and graduate. Go and be amazing.” She hugged him, this time for the really and truly last time. “Go with my love. And come back to me ten years from now.”
So he went.
She watched him go, watched him disappear into a crowd of blue robes. But he’d be back. Ten years from now, he’d be back. How could he not?
The body always remembers, and the heart never forgets.
When he came back, she’d be here waiting for him.
Chapter 25
Before the Conference—Boston, MA/Chicago, IL/Kansas City, MO
Nora, July 8
“Hey, Langley, the boss wants to see you.” It rankled Nora that Jack Elliott still called her by her last name, even after a year here. And that he shouted across the office rather than walk over to her desk like a normal human being. But he was unlikely to ever change, and he did have seniority, so she ignored the first three or four responses that came to mind.
“Thanks, Jack.”
It was kind of pathetic that her boss refused to use email to communicate in the office, but that was also unlikely to ever change, no matter how much time it would save everyone. Ninety percent of the things Mr. Brooks summoned people to his office for could be handled with a one sentence message.
She made her way through the maze of cubicles to Mr. Brooks’ cluttered office. When she sat across from him, she had to crane her neck to see him over the pile of books, magazines, and God only knew what else on his desk.
“You wanted to see me?”
He was shorter than her and had to stand to see over the junk and look properly at her. It had taken two months for Nora to train herself not to laugh at that.
“Yes, Nora. Your work has been exemplary recently.”
She hadn’t expected that. She hesitated for a moment, weighing her words, then she ignored her better judgment and said the first thing that had come to mind. “I don’t think Mr. Elliott thinks so.”
Her boss chuckled. “Has he thrown anything at you recently?” Nora gave him a blank look. Was he joking? “If Jack doesn’t throw a stapler at you—or his phone, if he’s in an especially foul mood—then he is satisfied with your work.”
“Couldn’t he learn to—I don’t know—behave like a grownup?” Nora regretted that as soon as she said it, but Mr. Brooks didn’t appear to be offended.
“That would be nice. But I’ve learned to live with his—let’s call the peculiarities. First, because he actually is an outstanding editor. And, second, because his uncle is on the board of our parent organization.”
That explained a lot. And, Nora supposed, it was almost a point in Jack Elliott’s favor that he hadn’t ever mentioned his family connection. Almost.
“Understood. And thank you. It’s encouraging to know you think I’m doing well.”
Mr. Brooks smiled, the sort of kindly smile she remembered her grandfather had, on the few occasions she’d seen him. “Oh, I didn’t call you here merely to feed your ego, Nora. I have an assignment for you.” He looked down, rummaged through the pile on his desk, and pulled out a brochure, which he handed to her.
“The National Technology Solutions Conference?” Mr. Elliott always assigned articles. Why was Mr. Brooks asking her to write one?
