Fly, Butterfly

by Annicken R. Day

“I’m too young to hear about this,” William said, and they both laughed.

  I don’t know if it was the stories, the rum, the magical night, or the feeling of Aimee’s spirit embracing us all, but there and then I thought to myself that I could not remember the last time I had felt so much happiness, joy, and love.

  It was getting late and even though I felt I could have sat with those two men the entire night, I didn’t want to keep them up too late.

  “Gentlemen, this has been the nicest evening I’ve had in a very long time. Thank you for the drinks and the stories. I adore Aimee even more after this evening.” I wanted to add, “and the two of you,” but I didn’t.

  I felt warmly toward George—I had become really fond of the old man.

  But watching William also made me feel warm, though in a very different way.

  In a way I wasn’t used to feeling.

  WILLIAM

  The next morning, George was not in his chair when I went down for my morning swim.

  After my swim, I brought a sandwich and a book with me to the hammock, but I had trouble concentrating. I kept thinking of William: the way he embraced his dad, the love in his eyes for his mother, and the way he had smiled at me.

  I’d finally managed to focus on my book when I heard a familiar voice.

  “Hey, Maya.”

  It was William. I quickly sat up, trying to do it elegantly, which of course is an impossible feat in a hammock. Instead, I rolled over and fell right to the ground.

  William laughed and helped me back up.

  “You are quickly becoming one of the cutest girls I have ever come across,” he said.

  My heart leapt until I realized that “cute” probably meant “weird and clumsy.”

  I smiled as I dusted myself off with my book.

  “Gabriel García Márquez, huh?” William said. He clearly knew his books better than I did, but I was pleased to impress him. No need to mention I had only read three pages.

  “So, Dad and I were wondering whether you had any plans for tonight.”

  I smiled, thinking I could get used to all this attention.

  “Since we only served you booze yesterday, we’d like to make it up to you with a proper meal tonight. That is, if you are free.”

  I nodded, maybe a bit too eagerly. “No plans. And yes, I’d love to.”

  “Great, see you at sunset then,” he smiled.

  I watched him walk back to his father’s house and sighed.

  Back in the hammock, I tried to concentrate on my book again, but the butterflies that had been dancing above my head earlier seemed to have found their way into my belly. And they gave me no rest.

  …

  Dinner was lovely. William grilled fish, and George made a rice dish that apparently had been Aimee’s specialty. They served chilled white wine, and we talked and laughed like old friends all evening. I already adored George. And my fascination with William continued to grow, the more I got to know him.

  William was a rare breed, a combination of playful and funny, intelligent and kind. He was confident in his own skin and not afraid to show his vulnerabilities. His love for his father was obvious, and when Aimee’s name came up, he often had tears in his eyes. It was heartwarming to see.

  William asked a lot of questions. He was curious about my life and what I thought about things and wanted to learn my likes and dislikes. He shook his head in disbelief when I told him some of my corporate stories and high-fived me when I told him what had happened at the investor conference.

  When he asked the “what now?” question, he must have noticed my hesitation, so he quickly added, “I guess that’s what you’re here to figure out.”

  I nodded and was thankful that we left it at that. I asked William about his company and was amazed by his story.

  Five years ago, he and his friend, Ray, a former Silicon Valley engineering star, had decided to start a company that developed software that could make robots mimic human emotions, like joy, sadness, and compassion. They got the idea from a conference they both attended, about how artificial intelligence and robotics would transform the human experience in the next ten years and how people will need to get used to the idea that robots, instead of humans, may be the ones that take care of them when they age.

  William and Ray had gone from friends to business partners within a week. They were still best friends, after building a company that now employed two hundred people and was still growing. They had already installed their software in a number of existing robots, including one that was on trial in a retirement home.

  William explained how the robot, Agatha, was dressed up as an old-fashioned maid with a white apron and hat. He said it was programmed to serve the elderly coffee and tea in the afternoon, while asking them questions about their days and showing appropriate human emotions, depending on what the elderly people said. When a man told Agatha about his hip pain, the robot appeared compassionate and caring and said she hoped he would feel better soon.

  And when an old lady told Agatha that her grandchildren would come to visit, Agatha clapped her hands and smiled and said, “How exciting! That sounds lovely!”

  Apparently, the people in the retirement home loved her, especially since she had been programmed to be very polite, with a posh British accent. Some of the patients said that they felt as if they were living in Downton Abbey after she had arrived. William told me they sometimes seemed to forget that she was a robot and that he felt a bit heartbroken that they would have to take her back one day, since they were just doing a trial and robots were still cost-prohibitive for most retirement homes.

  George looked very proud of his son. The story about robots taking care of the old and the sick, however, made him shake his head.

  “I hope you won’t send one of those robots over to take care of me if I get sick,” he said. He was trying to joke, but I could tell from his voice that he wasn’t. William gave George a loving nudge.

  “Don’t you worry, Papa. You won’t get rid of me that easy!” George seemed pleased. “But there will be other old and sick people who don’t have anyone to take care of them. And even though a human might be best, a robot that acts like a human is better than one that doesn’t.”

  “The robots are great and all that,” George said, “but why don’t you tell Maya about your company, too, William.” George turned and looked at me. “William’s company is one of the most admired and fastest-growing companies in Silicon Valley.”

  “Really? That’s amazing, William.”

  William looked a bit embarrassed. It was kind of adorable.

  “So, what’s the secret to your success?” I asked.

  “It’s pretty simple, really,” William replied. “The success has come because people love working there.”

  I was surprised by his answer. I had expected something else—like skillful engineers, strong management, disruptive technology, innovative design, committed investors …

  William didn’t seem to notice my surprise.

  “From day one, Ray and I agreed that we would create the kind of company that we ourselves would love working for. We have both had our fair share of miserable workplaces, and we have seen how bad work environments lead to bad outcomes for those companies.”

  I was intrigued.

  “We knew the way we built our company, the people we hired, and the culture we built would be what set us apart.”

  William’s face lit up as he talked about his company. I glanced over at George, who was beaming with pride, listening to his son speaking.

  “We see our culture as the foundation of everything we do. Culture determines how people work together, solve problems, support each other, develop products, treat customers—and how they feel about their jobs. Get the culture right, and the rest will follow. That has been our mantra since day one.”

  He took a sip of his wine and smiled, almost apologetic. “Please tell me if I’m talking too much. I tend to get very passionate about this subject.” />
  “No, please continue,” I said. “This is really interesting!” Culture had not been on the agenda in any of the companies I’d worked for. I wanted to learn more.

  “So, what is your company culture like?” I asked.

  “Well, first of all, it is a place where great people who want to make a difference come together,” he explained. “The people working for us are already brilliant, so our job is really to unleash their collective brilliance and inspire them to achieve things they didn’t even know they were capable of themselves.”

  He leaned eagerly forward in his chair.

  “Our culture is all about innovation, passion, and joy. To do the impossible. And to enable that, we need to create an environment where people feel they can be themselves, have fun, explore, experiment, and make mistakes—and know that it is safe to do so.”

  “And how do you create such an environment?” I asked, fascinated by the subject and the kind of work culture William described.

  “Well, neither Ray nor I have a tradition of taking ourselves very seriously, which of course helps. Then, we spend a lot of time talking with our people, inspiring and supporting them, making sure they feel safe and trusted, loved and cared for. We also tell them that failing is a necessary part of learning and that if they make a mistake or mess up, we’ll have their back.”

  I was astonished. William’s company sounded like the diametric opposite of TechnoGuard. There, the only thing people did to each other’s backs was stab them.

  And trust, love, and care? Who even used those kinds of words in a company setting? Well, clearly William did. I was not so sure how those words would fly with executives back in New York though.

  Still, I had to admit I would much rather work in a company like the one William described than the kinds of companies I was used to—and probably would end up working at when I returned to New York. I felt queasy just thinking about that.

  “It sounds incredible, William,” I smiled and took another sip of my wine. “But isn’t your job, as the CEO, primarily to deliver growth, results, and profitability?”

  “Of course,” William replied. “But those are outcomes. When we invest in our people and our culture, and create an environment where people thrive and have fun with what they do, great results follow as a consequence.”

  I turned toward George with a smile. “I wish I could bring your son with me to New York. I can think of quite a few CEOs who would choke on their coffee if they heard him speak.”

  George chuckled. William laughed too.

  “Be careful what you ask for, Maya,” William teased.

  I felt my face flush and desperately hoped the two men didn’t notice.

  Thankfully, I was saved by George getting up from his chair.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt such an interesting discussion,” he said. “But I think it’s time for those of us over eighty to get to bed.”

  George walked around the table and gave me a warm hug. When William stood up, I prepared to leave as well.

  “No, please. Don’t go anywhere, Maya,” William protested. “I’ll be back soon.”

  I sat down again and watched William follow his father inside. I was nervous about being alone with William. Those butterflies in my stomach wouldn’t leave me alone.

  As I listened to the big waves hitting the shore, I took a deep breath.

  Inhale. Exhale. William is just a friend.

  “Hey, want to go stargazing?”

  William was back, carrying a bottle of wine and some big blankets under his arm.

  “Sure.” I smiled, trying to sound cool. Inside, however, I was anything but.

  I picked up our wine glasses and walked with William down to the beach. We walked as close to the water as we could possibly get without getting wet. The sand felt cool under my feet, and I wondered whether the sand actually was that cold, or if it was just me, feeling very warm …

  William arranged the blankets on the sand and waited for me to sit down before he joined me. He was close enough that I could reach out and touch his hand.

  As he was uncorking the bottle, he said, “Maya, I want to thank you for what you have done for Dad.”

  “What do you mean?” The surprise in my voice was genuine.

  He poured a glass of wine and handed it to me.

  “When I left the island a month ago, I could feel that Dad was in low spirits. The light in his eyes was fading, as if he was slowly giving up on life. I felt powerless; I didn’t know what to do.”

  William poured himself a glass and took a sip before continuing.

  “I tried to be here as often as I could, but it never felt like enough, and I couldn’t be away from the company more than I already was.”

  I nodded, still unsure what good, if any, I had done.

  “But when I came back this time, Dad was a different man. He was energetic and happy. His eyes were shining. I hadn’t been home for more than five minutes before he started talking about how he’d met you on the beach and how you loved the movie South Pacific as much as he does. His whole face lit up when he said he had been singing for you and that the two of you drank coffee together every day.”

  I felt warm in my heart just thinking of George. He probably didn’t know this, but he had done as much for me as—apparently—I had for him.

  “Your presence has breathed new life into the old man. He simply adores you.”

  I took a sip of my wine and said, “And I adore him. Your dad is a very special man, and I feel so lucky to have met him.” And you, I thought, but didn’t dare to say that out loud.

  We were both quiet for a while, just sipping our wine and looking at the stars. I had never seen so many stars in my entire life. Looking up, there was more light than darkness.

  After a while, William spoke softly. “When I was a little boy, Mom used to point to the biggest star and tell me that Grandma and Grandpa were up there, waving down at us.”

  I smiled in the dark. “How funny,” I said. “That is exactly what my mom told me, too.” I lifted my head toward the stars. “We used to wave to my grandparents every night before I went to bed.” I smiled at the memory.

  We sat quietly and listened to the waves for a while, then I asked: “Do you believe, like George does, that our loved ones are waiting for us among the stars?”

  William was silent for a moment, then said, “Yes, I think I do.”

  He paused for another moment before he continued, “But I haven’t always believed it. I used to say that I did, though, just to make Mom happy.” I could hear him smile in the dark.

  I easily imagined him as a young boy, standing on this beach, hand in hand with Aimee, waving to the stars, skeptical but too polite and kind to contradict her.

  “I’ve always had a bit of an engineering brain,” he continued. “I wanted everything to be proven and rationalized. But the older I’ve become, the more I’ve come to realize that there is so much in the world that simply cannot be explained. And that just because we can’t explain it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

  Again, I thought about Mom. She would have loved to be part of this conversation.

  “Have you had any of those unexplainable experiences?” I asked, curious to hear more.

  I noticed him nodding in the dark. “Ever since Mom died, I have had experiences that cannot be explained, but I still know they happened. And the more I have accepted what I can’t explain, the more of these experiences I’m having. So, I’ve stopped questioning and rationalizing them and have just embraced the fact that life is way more amazing than our limited human brains are capable of understanding.”

  He was quiet for a while. He leaned back on his elbows and looked up at the stars. “I call it the beautiful unexplainable,” he said.

  “The beautiful unexplainable,” I repeated, like tasting the words. “I like that.”

  I was silent for a moment, then asked, “What kind of experiences did you have after your mom died, if you don’t mind me asking?” />
  “OK.” William leaned on his arm as he looked at me. “With the risk of you thinking I am out of my mind, a lot of strange little things happened right after Mom died.” He paused for a moment, looking for the right words. “It was as if she was trying to communicate with Dad and me. And you should know that neither Dad nor I really believed in those kinds of things before she died. We didn’t say it straight out to her, but she knew, and I think it really frustrated her sometimes.”

  William pulled his hands through his hair. I sensed that he was a little bit uncomfortable sharing this, which made the fact that he did even more special. I gave him an encouraging nod.

  He took a deep breath and continued, “Before Mom got sick, every morning at 8:00 a.m. she used to make Dad and herself smoothies. A few months before she died, she bought a new blender that she insisted Dad should learn to use. She even wrote down the recipes for all his favorite smoothies in a little book that she put next to it. She wasn’t sick then, but maybe she had a feeling or some kind of premonition about her illness.”

  While William was speaking, I saw a star out of the corner of my eye. I wondered if it was the same star I had seen the night before, shining brighter than all the others.

  William followed my eyes before continuing to tell his story.

  “One morning she fainted on her way to the bathroom. Dad quickly got her to the hospital, while I hurried over on the first flight from San Francisco. At the hospital we were told that Mom had an undetected, rare heart disease—and that there was no cure for it. Only one week after she fainted on the bathroom floor, her heart stopped beating. And suddenly, she was gone.”

  William’s voice broke a bit, and he fell silent. He took a sip of his wine and looked out over the ocean for a while. I sat silent with my knees toward my chin and watched the ocean and listened to his warm, deep voice.

  “Dad and I were devastated. We never got to say goodbye. A world without Mom was something neither Dad nor I had ever wanted to imagine, so when it happened, we were in shock and didn’t know what to do with ourselves. We forgot to eat, we hardly slept. We were both walking around like zombies the first few days after she died.”