“Do you have another job?”
“Not yet.”
Her crayon stopped.
“Are we moving?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“For now.”
He hated the uncertainty hidden inside those words.
Lily looked down.
“Was your boss mean?”
Daniel thought carefully.
“She made a decision I didn’t agree with.”
“So you quit?”
“It was more complicated.”
“Adults always say that when they don’t want to explain.”
He almost smiled.
“She asked me to cancel something that would hurt somebody.”
“On purpose?”
“No.”
“That matters.”
“Yes.”
“She thought the company needed it.”
“But I thought there was another way.”
“Did you tell her?”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t listen?”
“No.”
Lily returned to Saturn.
“So you left.”
“Yes.”
She colored for a while.
“Are you scared?”
Daniel could have lied.
“I am.”
She looked up.
“Me too.”
He moved to the chair beside her.
“That’s fair.”
“What if you don’t get another job?”
“I will.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t.”
“You said you will.”
Daniel nodded.
“Because I’m going to keep looking until I do.”
Lily leaned against him.
After a moment she said:
“Did the old people get their stuff?”
Daniel smiled.
“Yes.”
“Then okay.”
“Okay?”
“You did the important part.”
He kissed the top of her head.
“Who taught you to talk like that?”
“You.”
“That seems irresponsible.”
She laughed.
Later, after Lily slept, Daniel opened the envelope from his coworkers.
Eight hundred and sixty-three dollars.
Two grocery cards.
Three gas cards.
A handwritten note from Natalie.
YOU HAVE SPENT YEARS MAKING SURE NOBODY HERE HAS TO HANDLE A BAD DAY ALONE. DON’T START NOW.
Daniel sat at the kitchen table and cried.
Not dramatically.
Silently.
He had not realized how exhausted he was until kindness removed the need to stay completely upright.
The following morning, he updated his resume.
Then he searched job listings.
Operations coordinator.
Dispatch manager.
Customer support supervisor.
Hospital logistics specialist.
Most paid less.
Several required evening travel.
One looked promising until he saw rotating weekend coverage.
Lily needed Saturdays.
Daniel bookmarked four positions.
Applied to three.
Then his phone rang.
Victoria Hayes.
He watched it ring.
Stopped.
Started again.
Finally he answered.
“Daniel.”
“Ms. Hayes.”
The formality stung more than anger.
“Can we talk?”
“We are.”