She did not know where the sentence came from. It sounded more confident than she felt, and she was relieved when nobody challenged it. The truth was that she had never managed anything larger than the rota for a church food drive. A lounge responsible for hundreds of premium travelers each day, a staff of more than twenty people, and a budget large enough to make her dizzy was a different proposition.
Imani Price introduced her that afternoon to Farrah Quinn, a retired airport operations director who had been brought back part-time to mentor new managers. Farrah was sixty-three, wore bright scarves regardless of the weather, and had the unsettling habit of asking a question and waiting as long as necessary for an honest answer. She greeted Marisol with a handshake and no hint of ceremonial excitement.
"Congratulations on the opportunity," Farrah said. "Now tell me three things you're afraid of."
Marisol blinked. "Three?"
"I could ask for ten. Three is kinder."
"I'm afraid the staff will think I got this job because I happened to meet the chairwoman," Marisol began. "I'm afraid I'll make a mistake with the budget. And I'm afraid a difficult guest will realize I don't know everything and take advantage of that."
Farrah nodded thoughtfully. "Good. Those are sensible fears. We'll work on the budget together, we'll practice difficult conversations, and the staff will judge you by what you do after today. A lucky opportunity can open a door. Competence keeps it open."
That evening Marisol took the employee shuttle home to an apartment on the west side of Atlanta. Her son Nico was sitting on the floor building a complicated cardboard airport with three paper runways and a tower made from an empty cereal box. He sprang to his feet when she opened the door, ran toward her, and stopped short of knocking the tote bag from her shoulder.
"Mama, guess what," he said. "The teacher says my plane looks like it's actually flying."
"That's because you built the wings properly," she replied, kissing his forehead. "Show me in a minute. I have something to tell you."
Nico studied her face. "You look worried."
"I got a new job. Kind of a new job."
His expression brightened. "At the airport?"
"Still at the airport. But I'm going to help run the whole lounge."
He stepped back. "The one with the fancy chairs?"
"That one."
"Do you get a fancy chair?"
Marisol laughed for the first time since morning. "I get a desk, apparently. I'm not sure it's very fancy."
Nico thought about it seriously. "Maybe you can put my airplane on it. Then you'll remember that I'm waiting at home."
Marisol hugged him harder than she intended. She thought of the way Constance had looked at her when she said she wanted truth rather than promises. A career opportunity was frightening enough; the idea that it might allow her to spend more dependable time with her son felt almost unbelievable.