She cleared her throat.

“That’s what I was calling to talk to you about. I become acting director next week, but . . . I’m not so sure I’m going to apply for the job.”

She heard Maddie’s big intake of breath, so she started talking again quickly.

“I’m not saying this because I don’t think I’d be great at the job; I know I would be. And it’s not because I have impostor syndrome or any of that other stuff. It’s because . . . I like my job now. I love my job now, actually. Do I want to give that up, just for more status, and more money, and to be an example for other people? Part of the reason I wanted to do this was to help young social workers of color see they could succeed, but can’t I do that just as well by mentoring the ones I work with? The job means more money, but it’s also a lot more time. Will the extra money make me happy?”

She hadn’t realized she felt this strongly until all of that came bursting out to Maddie.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a while.

“I’m so glad you’re thinking about all of this, Mom,” Maddie said. “I’ve been worried about you for a while, but you seemed so set on this job, it didn’t occur to me that that was why you were so stressed.”

Tears came to her eyes at the tone in Maddie’s voice.

“I feel guilty saying all of this—I feel guilty even thinking it,” Vivian said. “But I realized today I’ve dreaded starting this job ever since I first found out about it. But I felt like of course I had to take it, so I was going to. But now”—she shook her head—“I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, Mom.” Maddie sounded so contrite. “I didn’t realize you felt like this about it. When you first told me about the job, it was right when we got to England, and I was so busy and distracted by work I didn’t ask you enough questions about it. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Vivian sat down on the couch.

“No, don’t feel bad. I didn’t realize I felt like this about it, either. Someone said something that sort of . . . made me adjust my worldview. And I was thinking about the job today in a whole new way.”

She’d been thinking about everything in a whole new way since she’d gotten that postcard from Malcolm.

How had he listened to her—and heard her—so well? About wanting to see a tiara, about why she hated surprises, about the job—there he’d heard what she didn’t even say.

“Well”—Maddie had her businesslike voice on—“I’ve known plenty of people who have turned down well-paying jobs, or quit jobs in favor of ones where they made a fraction of that salary, and it was always because they wanted more balance in their life that the job with more money wouldn’t give them. And, if you’re having any issue with money, I can always pitch in. You know that, right? No matter what.”

Tears rolled down Vivian’s cheeks.

“Oh, girl, thank you, I know that,” she said. “But it’s not that; I’m doing just fine. More than fine, actually. But what if . . . I don’t know, there are so many what-ifs. What if I get sick like Aunt Jo? I have excellent insurance, but there’s so much insurance doesn’t cover, and I don’t want to be a burden on you. What if, I don’t know, my house burns down? Or . . .”

Maddie cut her off.

“Enough with the what-ifs, Mom. You have to live for today, for now, not what you might think could possibly happen, years down the road. This job . . . if you take it, you’ll probably stay in it until you retire, right?”

Vivian took a deep breath.

“Yeah, I probably would.” She thought about that. The rest of her working life, in that job. A job that wouldn’t make her happy. She’d known that, as soon as Malcolm had asked her the question.

“Don’t you always tell me that life is too short to do something you hate?”

Vivian laughed.

“Don’t throw my words back at me! And I won’t hate the job, it’s not that, it’s just . . .”

“I know,” Maddie said. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I’ll support you in whatever you decide to do. I know you know that. But I’m really glad you’re thinking about this. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy, Mom.”

Vivian wiped her face with a napkin.

“Thanks, girl.”

Vivian hung up the phone and put her head in her hands. Then she stood up and went to her file cabinet. She looked through her financial records: her retirement account, her savings, what her health insurance postretirement would guarantee her. Finally, she took a deep breath.

She didn’t need this money. She could use it, no doubt, but she would be just fine without it. She could pay her mortgage, she could keep putting money into her savings, her retirement account was healthy, thanks to that corporate secretary job she’d had years ago, and she’d have excellent health insurance for the rest of her life—which was one of the reasons she’d taken this job in the first place.

She even had enough to cover some of her what-ifs. Not all of them, of course. But at least one or two.

She would be fine without the new job. She would be happy without it.

She went over to the drawer where she kept all of her stationery supplies and pulled out a postcard.

Malcolm—Thank you. You made me think about myself and my own happiness more than I have in years. I love my job. It makes me happy and fulfilled in a way I don’t think I truly understood until this week. I’m not going to apply for the new job. I just decided this thirty seconds ago, and I’m so happy about it. You’re the first person I told.

Love,

Vivian

Chapter Sixteen

Malcolm usually got a response from Vivian to his postcards within a week, eight days at the most. At least, that’s how it had been for over a month. But this time, while he got a postcard a few days after he’d sent his—this one with a story about one of her neighbors and his passive-aggressive battle against the dogs on their street that made him laugh and laugh—he knew she’d sent that postcard before she’d received his.

He had no real idea how Vivian would respond to what he’d said. She’d always been so direct with him, but would that translate into wanting him to be direct with her? Would she be offended by him bringing up her finances? He knew he never should have said that. But he’d been so worried about her, he hadn’t been able to think clearly.

He’d spent too much time talking to Miles; this was the problem. They’d hashed and rehashed out his whole “we have to follow our passions” justification for dumping Oxford, and it seemed like the boy had somehow convinced him of the importance of all that. Only partly, though—he’d also convinced Miles to wait to make a final decision until he’d made another visit to Oxford and talked to his tutors again. Luckily, he’d remembered how excited Miles had been when they’d been to Oxford together, so he thought there still might be a chance.

He shrugged. And, if all failed, Miles could always apply again. Oxford would always be there. And Miles’s high grades and impressive A levels would be there, too.

Finally, as he rifled through the mail in the elevator—he no longer had the self-control to wait until he got into his flat—he found a postcard with a picture of a waterfall on the front. He turned it over and read it as soon as he walked into his flat.