Chapter 9 - A FUTURE OF THEIR OWN
Three months later, Harper Manufacturing completed its restructuring.
The Mercer holding company removed every clause connecting the loan to Emily and Adrian’s marriage.
Thomas Harper sold a minority stake, stepped down as chief executive, and appointed a professional management team.
He told his daughter afterward that losing control of his company had finally taught him how dangerous it was to confuse control with love.
Margaret Mercer changed more slowly.
At first, she kept her distance.
Then one Sunday she appeared at Emily’s literacy center carrying six boxes of new books.
Emily looked at them.
“Are these a bribe?”
Margaret stiffened.
Then, surprisingly, laughed.
“Possibly.”
“Good. The children need art supplies too.”
Two weeks later, twelve boxes arrived.
Adrian stared at them.
“You’re turning my mother into a philanthropist.”
“She was already a philanthropist.”
“She liked buildings with her name on them.”
“Now she likes crayons.”
“That’s terrifying.”
Their marriage changed too.
They still fought.
Emily hated the way Adrian disappeared into work when he was afraid.
Adrian hated that Emily sometimes tried to solve everyone’s problems before acknowledging her own.
They argued about dishes.
They argued about his habit of leaving expensive jackets over dining chairs.
They once argued for forty-five minutes about whether the yellow blanket belonged in the living room.
Emily won.
But they learned.
Six months after their wedding, Adrian came home on a rainy April evening and found Emily standing barefoot in the kitchen.
She was making pasta.
“You’re late,” she said.
“I know.”
“You said seven.”
“I know.”
“It’s eight-twenty.”
“I brought something.”
“If it’s flowers, you’re still in trouble.”
“It isn’t flowers.”
He held out an envelope.
Emily eyed him suspiciously.
“What now?”
“Open it.”
Inside were two plane tickets.
“To Maine?”
“Next month.”
“Why?”
“There’s an old inn outside Camden for sale.”
Emily looked at him.
“And?”
“And downstairs there’s a storefront.”
Her heart began beating faster.
“What kind of storefront?”
“The kind that could become a small gallery.”
Emily stared at him.
Years earlier, before responsibility had consumed her life, she had dreamed of opening an art gallery in a small coastal town.
She had mentioned it once.
At three in the morning.
Months ago.
“You remembered.”
“Of course I remembered.”
Her eyes filled.
“Adrian, we can’t move to Maine.”
“I know.”
“You run a company in Chicago.”
“For now.”
She frowned.
“For now?”
Adrian leaned against the counter.
“The board offered me another five-year contract.”
“And?”
“I asked for one.”
Emily stared.
“One year?”
“One year.”
“Why?”
“Because somewhere along the way I realized I don’t want to spend my entire life being impressive to people I don’t even like.”
Emily laughed.
“I’d still work. Consult. Invest. Sit on the board.”
He shrugged.
“Maybe teach a business course.”
“You?”
“What?”
“You hate people.”
“I like some people.”
“How many?”
“Currently eleven.”
“Progress.”
Adrian smiled.
“I’m not saying we buy the inn.”
“Good.”
“I’m saying we look.”
Emily walked around the counter.
“And after we look?”
“We choose.”
That word still had power between them.
Choose.
May you like
Emily touched his face.
“I like that.”
