Chapter 60 - After the Questions
The room was smaller than I expected.
A table.
A recording device.
Water nobody drank much of.
Rebecca sat beside me.
The questions began with dates and responsibilities.
Which companies had I controlled?
Who reported to me?
What did I usually receive before approving action against an employee?
I answered.
When I remembered, I said so.
When I did not, I said that too.
Then the interviewer placed the email concerning Martin Ruiz in front of me.
“Is this your message?”
“Yes.”
“What did you understand his objection to be?”
I looked at the thread.
“I can see what was written here. I don’t independently remember the conversation it refers to.”
“Did you ask to review the supporting records?”
“Not in this exchange.”
“Do you recall asking elsewhere?”
“No.”
There was room in every pause for an explanation.
Pressure.
Workload.
Other people’s responsibilities.
Some of those things were relevant.
None changed the sentence on the page.
Later, they asked about Jonah.
About Victor.
About how disagreements reached my desk and how often I treated their arrival as the problem.
The meeting lasted several hours.
When it ended, I did not feel absolved.
I had not been offered that.
There would be further review.
Possibly more questions.
Matters I could not settle by walking out of a room.
In the car, Rebecca asked whether I wanted to discuss anything immediately.
“Tomorrow,” I said.
She nodded.
“Tomorrow is fine.”
I arrived home while Lena was draining pasta.
Noah stood in the doorway.
For a moment, he simply looked at me.
Then he said, “You’re late.”
“About twenty minutes.”
“The sauce is ready.”
“I’ll wash my hands.”
He followed me to the kitchen, close enough that I could feel him there.
At dinner, nobody asked for an account of the interview.
Nico described a disagreement over the model.
Isabel explained that her classroom snail had escaped and then been found under something she called a cabinet mountain.
Noah passed me the bread.
Afterward, Thomas called.
I stepped onto the porch.
“I’ve spoken with the people handling it,” he said.
“All right.”
“I told them what I remember. And what I don’t.”
“That sounds right.”
He was quiet.
Then he said, “The calendar is still the calendar.”
I looked through the window.
Lena was helping Isabel wipe a patch of sauce from the table.
“Yes,” I said. “It is.”
After we ended the call, I remained outside for a moment.
The street was settling into evening.
Somewhere nearby, a bicycle bell rang.
Lena opened the door.
“Everything okay?”
“Not everything.”
She leaned against the frame.
I told her what Thomas had said.
Then we went inside.
May you like
Noah had saved me a place on the couch.
I sat down before he needed to ask.
