Beyond the Point

by Claire Gibson

  “Back Bay,” she answered. “Anywhere on Newbury Street.”

  A FEW WEEKS later, the office buzzed with the chaos of a deadline. Phones rang loudly. The graphic design team moved their mouses briskly over multiple screens, deftly adding color and pizzazz to the research Dani had painstakingly compiled in the past year, hoping the numbers would tell a story. The first deliverable—another stupid marketing term that Dani loved to hate—was due to Gelhomme, and unfortunately, the French didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving. No one was going home until the report was complete.

  “Pete,” said Dani, rolling her chair out of her cubicle to peer into his. The lead graphic designer was an overweight thirty-two-year-old with a muss of brown hair and a patchy beard. He wore a black hoodie to work every day and was so good at his job, no one even mentioned the fact that he smelled of cottage cheese. “For the final slide, we need length of shave time, number of shaves a week, and number of razor brands purchased in a year—all averages. Got it?”

  “On it,” he said, without lifting his eyes from the screen.

  Dani nodded, closed a few windows on her browser, and breathed. Wait ’til Gelhomme sees this, she thought brightly.

  She’d never been so proud of a project in her life. A year had passed since she’d joined E & G’s research team, and she relished sifting through all those dry figures spread out across Excel spreadsheets. Survey answers coded and entered as numbers, each in its perfect little cell. Human motivations measured and analyzed. She could get lost in the matrix for hours, like a pirate searching for treasure. It didn’t even bother her that this report would go up the chain of E & G without her name on it. In her view, excellence was far more important than ownership.

  While Pete finished the presentation, Dani took a moment to walk to the office kitchen and refill her coffee mug, ignoring the ache in her hips. The pain had increased rapidly in the last few weeks, as she’d spent more time in her office chair, staring at a computer screen. Her general practice doctor had referred her to an allergist—apparently changes in her diet might help with the pain—but the allergist didn’t have a free appointment until after the holidays. Her GP had prescribed a narcotic to help with the pain, but Dani hadn’t filled the prescription. She’d heard how addictive those pills could be and didn’t need to add that to her list of problems. Pain was nothing new. The only new thing was the word chronic.

  Thankfully, there were more important things for Dani to focus on than her body. Though her town house in Boston’s North End had been in various states of disarray since she’d moved in last fall, she’d used her incoming houseguests as an excuse to finish decorating. In a rush of hard work and expense, an interior designer had arrived with a team of handymen that helped finish positioning the furniture, hanging the art, mounting the television, and styling the tables. Yolanda, her cleaning lady, would do a deep clean Wednesday morning, and a local chef she’d found on Craigslist would come that afternoon to get a head start on the feast. The chef would arrive again Thursday promptly at six A.M. to finish off the preparations, filling her kitchen with aromas of thyme, sage, and cinnamon. It would be worth the cost.

  Dani wanted this Thanksgiving to be perfect, but preparing the house hadn’t done a single thing to prepare her heart for her guests—Locke in particular. I’m thinking I might invite Amanda to come to Boston, he’d written. What do you think? While changing the sheets on the guest beds, Dani couldn’t stop thinking about what he would look like with a different girl standing beside him. The thought made her sick. But how could she say no? As soon as he arrived and saw her house, he would know that there was plenty of space at the table.

  Tightening the sheets on the guest bed, Dani had tried not to think about who would soon be sleeping side by side on the mattress. She was going to have to meet Amanda. Worse, she was going to have to pretend to like her.

  Dani sipped her coffee and stared out the office kitchen windows at the brilliant city below. The Charles River, a choppy dark navy, split the city into two sections: Cambridge to the left and North Boston to the right. If she squinted, she could nearly see her apartment, tucked near the harbor, surrounded in orange foliage. If they were lucky, the weather would stay like this all week: brisk but golden.

  “Boston’s skyline,” said a familiar voice behind her, “compared to New York City. It’s just so . . . quaint.”

  Turning from the windows, Dani found Jim Webb standing behind her. He wore a navy suit with a gray and burgundy striped tie, as dapper as the day they’d met. Dani suddenly felt like a foreign dignitary had come to visit.

  “Surprised?” he said.

  “Completely! What brings you here?”

  “My wife’s family does Thanksgiving in Nantucket. Thought I’d pop in. I had a few things I wanted to run past you about Gelhomme anyway. You have a minute?”

  “Yep. Actually, Pete’s about to finish up the report.” Dani started toward Pete’s desk. “Let me show you.”

  They walked through the numbers and figures, Dani pointing to each perfectly designed chart and graph, as Pete sat with his arms crossed, listening to the vice president of the company interrogate Dani about the work. From the questions Webb asked and the smile on his face—Dani could tell that their boss was impressed.

  “You did this?” he asked the graphic designer once they’d finished.

  “Yes, sir,” said Pete, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. It wasn’t every day that someone as senior as Jim Webb showed up to your cube. “Dani’s been feeding me the numbers. But I did the design work.”

  “Not bad,” Jim said. “Not bad at all. Has Laura Klein seen this?”

  Laura Klein, the woman who had helped Webb interview Dani last year, led E & G’s London office. It was Laura’s team that would create a commercial campaign informed by the insights Dani and the other junior research fellows had compiled into this report. Dani secretly wished she could follow the report through to completion—help with the creative side. But her job was nearly finished. Soon, Jim Webb would assign her a new research project for the next E & G client and the process would start over again.

  “Not yet,” answered Dani. “We’re going to send it to her as soon as Pete finishes the design.”

  “Incredible. She’ll be thrilled.” Jim Webb straightened his tie. “Hey, let’s step into your cube for a moment, Dani. I wanted to have a little chat.”

  Seated in Dani’s nook, Webb looked like a giant—long legs crossed, mind deep in thought. Her desk was orderly, bare except for a coffee mug and a silver framed photo next to her keyboard. In the photo, she, Avery, and Hannah stood in the middle of Times Square, laughing. To this day, the thought of that crazy twenty-four-hour trip made Dani smile. Twenty years old, alone in the city. Dani was between injuries. Avery’s world had yet to be rocked by scandal. And Hannah had just fallen in love with the man of her dreams. The shine on their faces said it all. They were unencumbered. They were free. It was hard to imagine that at the time their biggest grievance was Coach Jankovich. Now that woman was long gone from West Point. But then again, so were they.

  “I’m thinking you should let the other researchers take the reins this next go-round,” Mr. Webb finally said. “No need to waste your talent on the grunt work.”

  “I like the grunt work,” Dani said. “I like the research.”

  “Well, unfortunately, I don’t see you here much longer.”

  Dani furrowed her brow in an expression of utter confusion. What did he mean, he didn’t see her here much longer? And why in the world was he smiling if he was about to fire her?

  “Let me be straight with you, Dani,” he said, then paused. “I’m here to offer you a promotion. How would you feel about moving to London?”

  Dani stared at him and then laughed, thinking this surely was some kind of mistake. Twenty minutes ago, she was staring at Boston, excited about her Thanksgiving plans. And now Jim Webb was sending her to live in a different country?

  “You want me to work on Lau
ra Klein’s team?” Dani asked. Her memory was fuzzy. She remembered the woman’s British accent. The posh black dress. At that career fair, Laura had made some joke about expecting Dani to be a man. The few e-mails they’d exchanged in the last year had all been short. Terse, even. “Wait. Does she know about this?”

  “It’s less about what she wants, and more about what the company needs. We need someone like you on the creative side. Someone who can bring all that”—he pointed toward Pete’s desk, indicating the research—“to the actual creative product. I think someone who knows the target consumer as intimately as you do needs to be on the marketing team.”

  Dani’s mind raced. When she considered all the logistics of an overseas move—the housing and the packing and living so far away from family—it seemed like such a hassle. She’d only just finished decorating her apartment here! And she’d be even farther removed from her friends. But then again, Hannah was deploying to Afghanistan and Avery lived in North Carolina, which required a plane trip anyway. Why limit herself to the States?

  “When?” Dani asked.

  “January. That gives you a couple of months to move and get situated. Oh, and I forgot the most important part,” Webb added. “It’s a change in salary, too.”

  He wrote a number on a piece of paper and pushed it toward her. Despite the shock she felt at seeing the number, she kept her face neutral. She’d learned at West Point, the first rule of negotiation was to never to show your cards too quickly.

  “That’s great, but you and I both know the cost of moving will be steep. The cost of living in London, I imagine, is pretty different than Boston,” said Dani.

  “We can include a corporate travel account with Delta, so you won’t have to pay for your flights to and from the U.S. And you’ll be eligible for bonuses at this level. So that will sweeten the deal a good bit. You’re good at your job, McNalley. You deserve this.”

  On the outside, Dani nodded and acted as though she were considering it all very soberly. On the inside, her mind was racing. To turn down this job would be stupid. So what if she was only selling razors? Razors made people’s lives better. This was a blessing, Dani decided. A gift. Staring at the number on the page in front of her, she wondered what she would even do with that kind of money.

  “Okay,” Dani said, nodding as if she were trying to convince herself that this conversation was real. “Okay.”

  17

  Fall 2005 // Boston, Massachusetts

  Clink, clink, clink!

  “A toast.”

  Dani’s brother, Dominic, stood at the center of the table, holding a glass of champagne. He looked almost exactly like Dani, Avery thought, only tall and bald, with thick Buddy Holly–style glasses and the same glowing McNalley aura. Dominic’s partner, Charles, a Canadian-born physics professor, sat beside him, surreptitiously feeding their pug, Daisy, scraps of food under the table.

  A half-carved turkey rested in front of Avery, surrounded by empty dishes, where an hour earlier had been the most beautiful assortment of delicacies: sweet potatoes, roasted corn, fresh broccoli, creamed spinach, acorn squash stuffed with mushrooms and rice. Tim stretched his arm over the back of Hannah’s chair. Locke Coleman cut his girlfriend, Amanda, another slice of pumpkin pie. Dani’s parents had retired to the living room to watch football, leaving two empty chairs beside Dani, who sat at the head of the table, rolling her eyes at her brother’s theatrical toast. Noah’s hand warmly massaged the back of Avery’s neck, and a thimbleful of red wine sat in her glass. She was surprised to see the glass so empty. It had been full at least twice during dinner.

  Everyone was leaning back in their seats, bellies full, smiles wide, though in all honesty, Avery was still hungry. Noah had convinced her of the benefits of vegetarianism, but staring at that leftover turkey on the table, Avery’s mouth watered with desire. She’d never not eaten turkey at Thanksgiving. She found herself growing jealous of Dominic’s pug.

  “I drink to the general joy of the whole table,” Dominic began, raising his glass.

  “That’s Shakespeare,” interjected Charles. “How about something original, Dom?”

  “Pipe down, Charles. I’m talking.”

  Noah reached for the open bottle of wine and refilled Avery’s glass.

  “Like I said,” Dani’s little brother continued, “I drink to your joy. But most of all, I drink to my sister, whose greatest joy in life is to share it with others.”

  “Here, here,” said Locke.

  “Here, here,” said Hannah.

  The table clinked glasses.

  Avery took a big swallow of wine. Dominic was right: Dani did love to share her joy with others. And her wealth, too, now that she had it to share. Dani had purchased plane tickets for Avery and Hannah with her frequent-flier miles. She’d even offered to put Avery and Noah up in a hotel nearby, but Noah didn’t feel comfortable accepting that much charity, so instead of staying at the Hilton with Hannah and Tim, they were stuck at a Holiday Inn.

  It was strange to think that this soon after college, the world had already pushed Dani into such a different tax bracket. In the Army, everyone of the same rank made exactly the same amount of money—Avery could look at Hannah, Locke, and Tim, and know exactly what their bank accounts likely said. You had to hand it to communism. At least with forced equality, you didn’t have to deal with your feelings of inferiority.

  Avery hated that she felt—what was it? Envious of? Surprised by?—her friend’s success, but it was hard not to. When Avery and Noah had arrived in Dani’s cobblestoned North End neighborhood earlier that morning, they’d speculated how much rent she must have been paying to have such a stunning view of the river. The historic three-story town house must have been at least three thousand square feet. Her fully renovated chef’s kitchen had black onyx countertops, a shiny marble backsplash, and stainless steel appliances. A man dressed in white was busy chopping onions on a butcher block—he turned out to be a private chef Dani had hired for the occasion. As if she couldn’t be bothered with stuffing a stick of butter in the ass of a turkey. As if, all of a sudden, that was below her.

  Across the room, an industrial dining table had been set for a crowd, with silver place settings and crystal water goblets next to delicate wine glasses, like in a restaurant. A brown leather sofa in the living room was flanked on either side by low-slung modern chairs. And Dani’s apartment walls weren’t bare, like Avery’s quarters. Colorful African art had been hung professionally in every corner, like Dani had hired an interior designer. And the final touch was Tim and Hannah—Tim with his high and tight haircut and classic blue collared shirt, standing next to Hannah, whose long dirty blond hair fell in loose waves down her shoulders. When Avery and Noah had arrived, the Nesmiths had stood in Dani’s kitchen sipping a beer, like the entire scene had been staged for an open house. Avery’s mouth had hung open, in awe.

  “Insane, right?” Tim had said, noticing Avery’s surprise. “Not exactly Fort Bragg. But it’ll do.”

  Hannah had given Avery a stiff hug and mentioned how ironic it was that Noah and Tim would meet for the first time in Boston, rather than at Fort Bragg, where they all lived.

  “Where have you been, stranger?” said Hannah.

  Avery had tried not to take that dig personally, but there was an edge in Hannah’s voice that was hard to ignore.

  Just after three o’clock, Locke Coleman had arrived, walking through the door with his arms up over his head, like a heavyweight wrestler who had just won a match. He looked exactly as he had in college: shining face, gap-toothed grin. Hugs abounded. And Dani looked the same as she always had whenever Locke was around: dazzled. But before Avery could leave the kitchen to welcome Locke, a petite girl with rich brunette hair came up the stairs behind him, holding a pie. For the second time in one day, Avery’s jaw had dropped.

  “I’m fine,” Dani had said later, when she, Avery, and Hannah were alone together in the kitchen. “Why wouldn’t I be? Locke and I are just friends. We were
always just friends.”

  Avery and Hannah had exchanged a look, their agreement over Dani’s denial momentarily bridging the distance that existed between them. They stood in silence until Dani poured herself a generous glass of wine and took a long guzzle.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” Dani had said, changing the subject. “Tell me about tool shed guy.”

  Avery started with the long rides on his motorcycle that he’d taken her on throughout the spring, rides that ended in lakeside picnics or hikes to waterfalls. She’d described his vintage two-door BMW—so sleek—and the trip they’d taken to California that summer, which he’d paid for entirely. She’d complained about his schedule: Noah constantly left on deployments that were sporadic and unpredictable in their length and location. And since his work was classified, she’d had to learn to be comfortable not knowing where he was going or when he might return. She told her friends what she and Noah shared in common—a love of fitness, good wine, and music—and avoided any subjects that might raise their concern. As it turned out, Noah wasn’t thirty, like he’d originally said. He was actually thirty-six, a fact Avery only discovered when she’d asked to look at the picture on his driver’s license and noticed the year he was born. He said he’d never lied—he promised that on their first date, he’d told her he was in his thirties, but Avery remembered it differently. Not that it mattered. It was only a thirteen-year difference.

  She knew his age would matter to her friends, though. So she avoided admitting the truth about his age, because she didn’t want to spend Thanksgiving justifying their relationship. Instead, she was going to spend it feeling his warm hand against her neck.

  As Dominic took his seat, the table quieted and candlelight flickered across all of their faces. In particular, Avery focused on Tim and Hannah, who were seated across from her. All night, they’d been leaning into one another. Touching. Kissing. Nothing inappropriate, of course—it was Hannah after all—but even from the outside, you could sense an urgency in their faces. Time was running out before they deployed. And while Avery still wasn’t a huge fan of Tim, she appreciated how quickly he’d welcomed Noah into their fold, offering him a beer and talking to him about the Army all afternoon.