“Think good thoughts,” she said to Akiko and Gustavo.
“How is it to be home?” asked Oscar, chipper and condescending all at once. Before Marlow could answer, he barreled on.“I’m sure you’re glad to be back, put this summit to bed, and get ready for the festival. Everyone’s done a great job covering for you, so thank them when you have a chance.”
Marlow wanted to kill him. Throttle him as slowly and as painfully as possible.
“I’ve reserved the conference room so we can get you up to speed. Akiko, Gustavo, the rest of the team will join. But first I wanted to see how you’re feeling about Renegade. I’d like to offer you my old job, despite my concerns. But not if you’re only half here. I’ve dealt with that version of Marlow Linden all summer, and it’s no fun.”
Mirabelle magpies needed no monthly nut to pay for overpriced coach-house apartments, undergrad tuition, and retirement twenty-five years away. They had no overhead except the wide-open sky. Did they migrate? They were big birds, part of the crow family. Maybe they overwintered in Haute-Marne. Or flew somewhere hot. Point was, they could go where they wanted. They had the choice, and they exercised it. She instinctively glanced to her left, the way she did at her desk at Guillaume’s, to look at the vineyards. But Oscar didn’t have a window. She stared at the wall.
“Earth to Marlow.”
“Yes?”
“The job will be lots of overtime, weekends. Hustle, hustle, hustle. I’m assuming you want it.”
Did she? She could take the job in Cannes. It would be better than working for this guy, though there were no guarantees. But here … here she’d be walking right into the same job she’d had before France—in fact, she’d be themanagerof that job. Yes, with full-time wages and benefits, but still administering other people’s fine art. This windowless office would be hers.
How much wood would a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood?
She stood up. “Thank you for the job offer, but you should give it to Gustavo. He’s smart, he knows how the department works, he can talk to filmmakers because he is one, you like him—I mean, who doesn’t like Gustavo—and he needs it. I guess I’m resigning. No, Iamresigning. Good luck with it all.”
She headed straight for the elevator. She didn’t even really need to stop by her desk.
“What the fuck, Marlow!”Oscar yelled after her. Akiko, Gustavo, everyone else looked up. Marlow waved goodbye, and on second thought, took the stairs.
It didn’t take long to visit Helen in HR, who offered to send Marlow paperwork by email.
As Marlow headed out, she ran into Yves, looking smart and filmmakery, his worn leather satchel over his shoulder. He’d flown in the night before on a different airline and was there to sign a contract for the September Summit.
“Did you have other business in Toronto? The summit’s not until Friday,” she said.
“Meetings. This film that’s been greenlit has Canadian money, which means we’re doing postproduction in Toronto. I’ll be here for five months after we shoot.”
“Good, good,” she said, stomach doing a few flips.
“I will respect your privacy, but I wanted to ask your permission to reach out to Sabine. Only if she wants me to. It was my privilege to get to know her this summer, and I want to be there more for her if that’s OK. You have raised a spectacular daughter.”
“Yes, you can see her,” said Marlow, surprising herself. “But let her take the lead.”
Yves’s eyes met hers. Those gentle, deep, sensitive eyes. “Thank you.” He looked at the ground as if trying to find more words. “I am sorry I didn’t give us a chance. Me and Sabine …but me and you, too. Maybe it’s too late for us, but if any part of you thinks there’s even the slightest chance, I’d work very, very hard to make it work.”
Marlow could not believe it. She’d hated Yves from afar for so long, and this summer had brought him back into her life and Sabine’s. Strangely, she wasn’t upset in this moment. In fact, she might even say there was chemistry between them. There had for sure been chemistry in the heady first weeks of their relationship, but now it was different. She couldn’t quite tell what it was, to be honest. It seemed eighteen years had made him sexier, rather than the reverse. She hoped she’d aged as well as he had. Nevertheless, this was a bad idea, and she knew it.
“Thank you for saying those things,” she said, “but don’t hold your breath.” He eyed her, and she smiled. Amazingly, she felt released from feeling bad about him.
“See you at the summit,” he said.
She didn’t mention she’d just quit. He’d find out soon enough. She unlocked her bike and considered ordering sushi—celebrating freedom from Oscar and a job that wasn’t a fit anymore, hopefully getting Gustavo a job, and not biting off Yves’s head for wanting to be a better father to her kid—but she figured she’d better not. Things were going to be tight for a while.
Willa and Max were over, listening to every detail of Sabine’s time away and looking longingly at the furled maps of France she’d brought back from Maison Perdue.
“I cannot believe you held all that back from me,” said Willa. “What’re cell phones for?”
“I liked being out of touch. Hasn’t it made my story today better?”
“She has a point,” said Max.
“Don’t side with her,” said Willa. “She deprived me of atonof gossip this summer.”
