Part 7:
In neat handwriting, it read, “Your office temp, 72 deg, perfect for humans and CEOs.” R. Clara pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to suppress a smile that had no place on the ice queen’s face. Over the next 2 weeks, Clara found increasingly creative reasons to request maintenance. A flickering light in her private bathroom, a strange noise coming from her ceiling vent, a door hinge that squeaked.
Each time her building manager sent Ryan, and each time Ryan would show up with his toolbox in his calm presence and fix problems that barely existed while they talked about everything and nothing. Clara learned that Emma was obsessed with space and wanted to be an astronaut. That Ryan’s favorite meal to cook was spaghetti carbonara because Emma thought it was fancy.
That he taught himself guitar during Sarah’s cancer treatment, playing softly in hospital rooms to help her sleep. that his favorite time of day was the 15 minutes before Emma’s bedtime when they’d sit on her bedroom floor and she’d tell him elaborate stories about her stuffed animals adventures. Ryan learned that Clara had built Hail Industries back from near bankruptcy after her mother had run it into the ground following her father’s death.
That she spoke four languages but couldn’t carry a tune. That she’d never had a pet, never learned to ride a bike, never been to a movie theater. that the loneliest she’d ever felt was standing in a room full of people at a networking event, listening to them compete with their accomplishments like gladiators and designer suits. They were careful.
They never touched beyond the professional handshake. They never met outside of these manufactured maintenance calls. But Clara felt the pole growing stronger every time she saw him. Felt the walls she’d built around herself developing more and more cracks. On a Thursday afternoon in early April, Clara was leaving the building at 6:00 p.m.
earlier than usual because her evening meeting had cancelled when she saw something that made her stop dead in the lobby. Ryan was crouched down next to the building’s revolving door, talking to a little girl with dark curls and serious gray eyes. She was wearing a purple backpack decorated with stars and planets, and she was gesturing emphatically while Ryan listened with complete focus. Emma. It had to be Emma.
Clara should have kept walking, should have slipped past them unnoticed. Instead, she found herself moving closer, drawn by curiosity and something deeper she didn’t want to examine too closely. And Mrs. Patterson said my project was the best in the class, Emma was saying. She said I explained the water cycle better than anyone.
Can we get ice cream to celebrate? We can get ice cream, Ryan agreed, smiling. But we need to get home first so you can start your homework before.” He looked up and saw Clara standing there. His expression shifted. Surprise, then something more complicated. Pleasure and concern mixing together. “M Hail,” he said, standing. “I didn’t see you there.
” “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Clara looked at Emma, who was studying her with intense curiosity. “You must be Emma.” Emma nodded solemnly. “I am? How did you know my name? Your dad mentioned you. He said you want to be an astronaut. Emma’s face lit up. I do. I’m going to be the first person to walk on Mars and I’m going to bring back rock samples for scientists to study.
Do you like space? Clara found herself crouching down to Emma’s level. Her designer skirt be damned. I don’t know much about it, she admitted, but I’d like to learn. What’s your favorite planet? Saturn, Emma said immediately. because of the rings. They’re made of ice and rock and they’re so beautiful. Did you know Saturn has 62 moons? Some of them have names and some of them are just numbers. I think that’s sad.
Everything should have a name. That is sad, Clara agreed, completely charmed by this small person with Ryan’s eyes and her own fierce intelligence. If you were in charge, what would you name them? Well, I’d start with names of other astronauts because the first people who got to space should get to have moons named after them.
That’s only fair. Clara looked up at Ryan, who was watching their interaction with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Pride in his daughter, certainly, but something else, too. Something warmer and more dangerous. That’s very logical thinking, Clara said to Emma. You’re going to make an excellent scientist.
I know, Emma said with the complete confidence of a six-year-old. Are you the boss of this building? I am sort of. Do you boss my dad around? Ryan made a small noise of alarm. Emma, it’s okay, Clara said, fighting back a smile. It’s a fair question. I don’t boss your dad around. He’s too good at his job for that. He fixes things before I even know they’re broken.
Emma nodded, apparently satisfied with this answer. She looked at her father. Can we go get ice cream now? I did a really good job on my project. You did? Ryan agreed. He looked at Clara and she saw him hesitate. Saw him weigh something in his mind before saying, “Would you like to join us? There’s a good place just around the corner.
” Every professional instinct Clara possessed screamed at her to say no, to maintain boundaries, to remember who she was and who he was, and all the reasons this was inappropriate. I’d love to, she heard herself say. The ice cream shop was called Sweet Dreams, and it was the kind of place Clara would never have entered on her own, cramped and cheerful with sticky tables and a teenage employee who looked monumentally bored behind the counter.
