The Austen Escape

by Katherine Reay

  “Why wouldn’t we?” Benson shoved the laptop into my hands. “Take it. You have to show him.”

  I tried to shove it back, but he pulled his hands away. “This isn’t what I’m seeing him about,” I said. “You show him later.”

  Benson’s eyes widened. “We have to design this. This is what we do. Acer wants a device. HP too. And we can get this out the door. Why would they want what’s already out there when we’ve got something better? This is why we’re here. It’s what we do.” He gently pushed the laptop, still in my hands, so that it rested against my chest. There was no handing it back.

  Benson dropped his gaze. It darted around my cubicle as if seeing it for the first time. “You’re packed up. Are we all switching cubicles again? I just got mine right. Do you know how much time and productivity we lose with each move?”

  “No. This is just me.” I glanced at my phone. “I’m up.”

  Benson nodded and pushed on my back. “Will you find me after you tell him? I’ll wait. Should I wait here?” He pushed again. “No. I’ll wait at my desk.”

  Moira met me outside her cubicle. “This is a mistake.”

  “It’s not.” I kept moving.

  “Please, Mary.” Her tone stopped me. “You love this job, and I actually don’t hate you. I’ll miss you.”

  “I know. Me too.”

  Moira turned back and I walked on. I glanced in the cubicles as I passed. Each was filled with the unique personality of the person who worked there. Dottie’s grandchildren covered every square inch of her gray fabric walls; the finance guy’s cubicle—what was his name?—was plastered with pinned spreadsheets overlapping each other. It reminded me of the wallpaper in one of the first-floor bathrooms at Braithwaite House—tiny black dots forming a seascape across the walls. Lucas, WATT’s head programmer, had covered all available space within his cubicle with inspirational quotes like Never Let Go of Your Dreams and You Are the Best You Ever.

  I lingered on that thought. Nathan. The piano. Braithwaite House. Dancing. As I passed, I wondered if Lucas might let me steal that last one.

  I rapped my knuckles on Craig’s office door. Other than the fully enclosed conference rooms lining two of the outer walls, his office was the only real room in our company.

  “Come in.”

  I opened the door and paused, as I always did, to take in his view. Craig’s outer wall was full glass and looked out over a fountain and the complex’s largest man-made puddle. That wasn’t terribly interesting. But on sunny days, especially if there was a breeze like today, sunlight refracted off the droplets of water the fountain shot into the air. The droplets came alive with the full light spectrum. Today it was glorious.

  I looked back to Craig. His desk faced away from the wall. I wondered if he ever saw the view.

  Eyes fixed on his computer, he started talking before I’d taken a step.

  “Mary. Good. You’re here. Shut the door and come on in. I’m running late, of course, but I heard Dottie got you a cake. She’s a wonder with short notice.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what this is. Very short notice.”

  “Yes.” I sat down.

  He pulled his eyes away from his screen and fixed them on me. We called him the Tasmanian Devil, after the old Road Runner cartoon. He moved that fast and often simply spun in circles—his staying power never keeping up with his ideas. But when he stopped moving, he was disconcertingly calm. Like now.

  “You heard somehow, didn’t you?”

  “Nothing firm, but Karen isn’t a fan of mine.” I hedged. I was not going to tell him about Nathan and England, and I couldn’t define what I actually did know anyway.

  “It’s all gone sideways, so if you’re leaving—”

  “It’s time to move on.”

  “Is it?” Craig shot straight. He looked upset he’d missed the memo.

  “I’ll be at MedCore for the final interview Wednesday, but I’m happy to fill out the standard two weeks. I know we’re pushing for a strong fourth quarter.” The cool laptop, now sitting on my lap, reminded me. “Oh . . . Benson solved the Golightly heating issue and built specs for a prototype if you want to pursue it.”

  “Benson?”

  “I sent him all my data last week.” I opened the computer and walked around Craig’s desk. “If you look here—”

  Craig clamped a hand on my upper arm to silence me. He was a brilliant physicist, engineer, and innovator. He didn’t need me interrupting or interpreting. He flipped through the schematics faster than Benson had.

  “It’s so sleek. Are these numbers right? Is it this compact? This rivals Microsoft’s Holo. I had no idea . . .” His voice drifted away as he became absorbed.

  Someone tapped on his door. He pointed to it without looking up.

  “Come in,” I called.

  He glanced up, as if surprised the words didn’t sound like his voice.

  Karen entered.

  He flicked his hand to me, eyes back on the computer. “Karen asked to join us, and as you report to her, I agreed it was appropriate. Do you mind?”

  Karen’s level stare dared me to protest.

  “Not at all.”

  “We’ve got Golightly.” Craig flapped his hand to her now. “Come . . . Come . . . You’ve got to see this.”

  Karen walked around Craig’s desk on the opposite side and leaned in. He was scrolling so fast I could hardly keep up, and I knew what we were looking at. One glance at Karen and I could tell she was completely lost.

  She straightened and backed away. I did the same.

  “You did this?” She pointed a finger to me. Craig wasn’t paying attention to us.

  “Benson did. I sent him my work on Friday and he designed final schematics. He’s been awake a few days, I think.”

  Karen nodded and got lost somewhere in her own thoughts until Craig surprised us both by slapping Benson’s computer shut.

  “We need a full meeting. Rally the troops. When’s that meeting with HP? And—”

  “Can we deal with one thing at a time?” Karen nodded to me.

  “Right. You’re leaving. Why are you leaving again?” Craig swung back and forth in his chair, trying to keep both Karen and me in sight.

  To make it easier for him, we circled his desk and dropped into the two chairs facing it.

  “Okay, then . . .” Craig pulled a tablet over. He’d already forgotten his question. “I looked up MedCore. Good company, innovative work, and you are right, Karen, it’s not in conflict with what we do here. But I’m sorry to lose you, Mary. Four years is a long time . . . Five years. We’re at five years . . . You’ve been invaluable to this company.” He looked up. “You’ve also been a good friend.”

  I smiled. “We’ve been through a lot.”

  “Haven’t we?” He blinked, as if just realizing that we held the same fond and frenetic memories. “It’s been a ride. Remember that first year when we—”

  “That said . . .” Karen paused to clear her throat. “Growth is hard, and not everyone is equipped to handle the challenges. Procedural requirements and streamlining systems can rattle some people. I’m glad you found a company that fits your more fluid style. I think MedCore is half our size?”

  “It is. They have a small line. In fact, all resources are focused on one product, a new dissolving non-lithium battery for humans.”

  “How interesting.” Karen’s tone said it was anything but.

  “Mary offered to see out the two weeks.” Craig looked between us. He widened his eyes and held them a few beats. It was his token gesture for Go figure out the details yourselves.

  Karen bristled. “I hardly think that’s necessary. I’ve had every member of my team catalogue their work, down to the last detail, for the past six months. It was meant to bring me up to speed and highlight inefficiencies, but in both cases now, it serves as a line of sight to past interaction and future projects.”

  “Both cases . . .” Craig’s focus drifted above and beyond us.
>
  Karen squirmed, pushed herself straighter, and rushed on. “The procedures already in place minimize any disruption.”

  “Fine.” Something hardened within Craig’s eyes. He dropped them back to his tablet. “Did they throw good money your way?”

  I blinked.

  “They should. Talk to finance. Moira will know; she can tell you what you’re worth.” Craig bounced back in his chair. “I certainly haven’t been paying you enough.”

  “Craig.” Karen’s voice held a warning.

  “What? She’s an engineer like me and loves the work. They’ll pay her less than she deserves if she doesn’t know.”

  Loves the work . . . I found myself nodding.

  Craig looked at his watch. “Any last words of wisdom for us?”

  “I hardly think that’s necessary,” Karen interjected.

  “Mary’s been here for five years. She was my . . .” He looked back to me. “Fourth hire?”

  “Fourth hire,” I confirmed.

  Craig smiled slow and long. “What fun we’ve had. It’s been a good run so far . . . Let me have it. What do we need to do different, better, faster? After all, there’s a reason you’re leaving.”

  “Craig—”

  He held up his hand. “I contend Mary knows this business almost as well as I do, and I’d like her opinion. We started as a group of engineers. That’s what made us great, and if two are walking out my door, I want to know how to prevent number three.”

  I felt my lips part. Benson was at my desk. It had to be Rodriguez. I glanced to Karen. The skin under her eyes sagged against her glasses. Her mouth was pursed tight.

  “Umm . . . I’d be careful not to put too many layers in place. Procedures, while necessary, can curb creativity, especially for your engineers and the physicists.” I peeked at Karen. Her face was rigid, but she didn’t interrupt.

  Craig nodded.

  “We’re introverts—at least the ones you’ve got on board now. We need our quiet time to think, but we also need the freedom of uncensored and unmonitored interaction. We work alone, then play off each other to get the best out of our ideas. Until Golightly, I worked that way too. This project, it took over in a way I can’t explain.” I shook my head. “But back to your question, too many layers and rules make us feel watched and stifled. We know most ideas won’t fly, 90 percent, but we need that ninety without feeling the pressure that each one has to justify its existence. Those ninety failures give birth to the ten that make WATT so great.”

  “To some degree, those 90 percent do need to justify their existence. Every idea pulls resources. We need to keep the lights on here.” Karen’s voice reminded me of Isabel’s when she’d spoken so sharply to Clara.

  “Obviously.” I spoke to Craig. “But don’t make teamwork and all the buzzwords thrown around here a mandate. Let people come together to collaborate on their own. We already do.”

  I thought about Benson, who always came for help in the afternoons around three o’clock when his energy lagged and, when he relaxed, expanded his conversation topics from science to science and Star Trek. I thought about Moira, who handled the financials and teased the engineers and physicists when we began to run a project anywhere close to “red.” Her chiding put us on track because we wanted to do things right, not because she rapped our knuckles. She also sang gospel songs under her breath as she worked and made everyone feel better. I thought about Lucas, how he stayed late every Friday, sometimes into the wee hours of Saturday, until his week’s programming work was done and he could tap his You Will Never Have This Day Again So Make It Count poster on his way out the door.

  Craig glanced from me to Karen. He bounced back in his chair. The entire thing lifted off the ground.

  I pressed on, leaning toward him. “You’re an engineer, Craig, you must have noticed.” I paused with the realization that after five years of working with him, I had no clue what Craig did or did not notice. It had been a running joke for years that as long as he had a project, we could move the entire company back to his garage or to Timbuktu and he wouldn’t notice. “Nathan did. He noticed. He saw all this.”

  “Nathan talked to you about changes here? Proposed changes?” Karen’s voice cut in.

  I pulled back. “When he shadowed me in May, he asked a ton of questions. I realize now he didn’t want answers, he wanted to know how I thought about things, make me articulate it, and see it all a different way. He got that WATT was changing, and I think he was trying to help me, help us, be proactive and take ownership of it.”

  “His reorg proposal makes more intuitive sense now.” Craig grinned. I recognized the flash in his eyes—lightbulb clarity had struck.

  “Reorg proposal?” Karen’s focus shifted.

  Craig kept his eyes on me. “I’ll miss you, Mary. I sincerely wish you weren’t leaving. Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

  I shrugged, recognizing the ambiguity of the gesture but unable to offer anything more. The meeting was over; it was time to go. Karen’s elation felt palpable.

  She dragged in a breath. “Mary’s point is valid, but as we move forward, it’s not feasible, even with Nathan’s suggestions. With the growth WATT is experiencing, it is impossible to simply give the physicists, the engineers, anyone, their own playgrounds and hope it all turns out well.”

  She spoke to Craig as if I weren’t in the room at all. I stood and headed for the door.

  I’d almost reached it when a “Mary?” stopped me.

  Karen held her files tight to her chest. Her knuckles protruded bony and white with the strain. “It’s probably best you’re going, as it sounds like WATT isn’t the best fit for you any longer.”

  You love this job. In my head Karen’s snarky tone was replaced by Moira’s.

  “That’s not true. This company has always been the best fit for me.” I stepped toward her, enjoying my height. I didn’t slouch this time. “I love this place and I’ve worked hard here—42 percent of all deliverables kind of hard.”

  Karen’s eyes bulged at the number. I glanced to Craig. A look of curious amusement rested on his face, but he didn’t comment. I was not about to tell where I’d gotten the number, so I rushed on before either of them could ask.

  “You’ve got twenty-five years of experience, and I get that you’ve steered larger companies to even greater success, but we’re not children playing around ‘hoping it all turns out well.’ You haven’t been willing to see that or see how things really work here. Do you know why the physicists hand-deliver their reports rather than put them on file share? It’s because they need that moment. That moment when someone will face-to-face walk through their science—which is their heart song, by the way—and collaborate on its application. After all that alone time, they don’t want to send it into the cloud. They need to see it land in someone’s hands, watch their eyes light up, and dive into it with them. Then they go back to the computer—yes, and sometimes it’s with a cookie. It’s their moment of personal connection. It’s like oxygen. They’ve got to have it.”

  I tilted my head and reconsidered that last point. “We’ve developed extraordinary trust and friendship here, and that’s what drives innovation. Craig was right about the money—I’m sure most of us aren’t paid enough, if you broke it down by hours. Benson has been here since four o’clock this morning. And do you know why it’s quiet every day around here until Friday? It’s not because people hate their work and trudge through the week. We don’t work nine to five. Days run together because we’re always thinking about this stuff and we don’t slow that momentum until Friday. Its makes our workweek longer than you can imagine, and you missed it—you haven’t recognized a tenth of the dedication out there.”

  I stepped back. My flailing hands needed more room. “And, yes, I went sideways with Golightly, and I’m sorry about that.” I looked to Craig before facing Karen. “But Craig probably let me because he trusted me to pull through. And I did, by finally talking to Benson. It’s not a lesson I’
ll need to learn twice, but I had to learn it. And an incredible product will come from it—but not if you lose two of WATT’s engineers.”

  I pressed my fingers to my lips to slow myself down and to assess my courage to continue. No one spoke. Karen’s mouth was gaping and she was possibly two shades paler, but a crimson spot was beginning to migrate across her cheek. I didn’t have the courage to glance at Craig again.

  I lowered my fingers and my voice. “You’re throwing it all away, the backbone of this company. It’s not the batteries and the products we build—that’s the output—it’s the deep well of creativity and trust that goes into making them. You put us on your org chart and assigned physicists to certain engineers and you quantified a qualitative entity—one of the only truly qualitative aspects here.”

  Karen’s gaze flickered between Craig and me, then narrowed. “I fail to—”

  “Karen?” Craig held up a hand. “Will you leave us for a moment?”

  “Excuse—”

  “Please. I’ll come see you later. I need a moment with Mary. Alone.”

  She slammed the door behind her. She actually had to pull it to make the noise she needed.

  I held my hands out without a clue as to what I was offering. “I am so sorry. I just . . . I kept talking.”

  Craig wasn’t listening. He dropped his head onto his desk. It bounced off his laptop and lay there. “What have I done?”

  I blinked.

  He raised his head and stared at me. “The brain that starts a company, that has that first supernova idea, isn’t always the one who can run it. I thought I needed a COO, really a seasoned CEO. Investors wanted it and I, like you, love the creative work. It was the next step . . . Rodriguez gave his two-week notice this morning. At least he did it in person.”

  “Oh . . .”

  “Exactly. Two-thirds of our designers, the backbone of this place, as you call it. Nathan would have a field day with your fireworks display.”

  “Nathan?”

  “He’s been pushing me to fire Karen for six months. Two days after I hired her, almost a month before she stepped foot in the office. That’s not true, he fought the hire too. And every reorg discussion with him starts there. Cut our losses with her and move on. He said this morning that WATT is hemorrhaging people and resources . . .”