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those, but I understood the math was sound.
    “And number two a long-term one,” the senior staff member to his left cut in, studying the graphs.
    “Of course,” I said with a shrug. “All of them will take time and money to implement. There’s no such thing as a quick and cheap solution to this. The market has been going through a fundamental shift for over a decade and we haven’t changed all that much. That takes some catching up.”
    I could tell that Lyle was trying hard not to scowl, and I stepped back, lowered my head. I had been sending out resumes for a while, unsure of my future with the magazine, or the magazine’s future itself, but it wasn't a hiring market and I was stuck.
    “What I meant to say is,” I started again, this time rolling my shoulders and crossing my legs, “that the team hasn’t unearthed any less time or resource-consuming options.”
    “Which one would you recommend?”
    I took a deep breath. “A combination of them all, really, with staggered priority. A strong, interactive web presence is the first thing we should work on, and at the same time start researching into new markets. TV shows, even web shows have started to catch up to movies in terms of quality and creativity—they are also the ones with a passionate following. We could start making room for that, give people what they want.”
    I pulled my vest down and stuck my hands into the pockets of my trousers. “After those two are showing first results, we can walk new paths in advertising. But…” I looked around the three wrinkled faces, then pulled up my shoulders. “I’m not an expert, this is just what the team came up with, and my personal feelings on the matter. I’m just a writer."
    They nodded; Lyle scratched his head, while the other two got up from their chairs. They squeaked and sighed under the release of weight.
    “Thank you Ms. Ellis. We’ll keep you informed.”
    “Mr. Lyle, um, could I have word, please?”
    He nodded and waited until the others had left the room. My hand instinctively found the phone in my pocket and I held it tightly like a talisman.
    “I was wondering if I might take a few days off, next week maybe or the one after? I know it’s spontaneous, I just…” My voice trailed off and I shrugged. There had been an explanation in my head. I’d come up with it on the tube ride to work, but it had long vanished in a puff of nervous breath.
    “Ordinarily,” he started, his forehead a knotted landscape of hills and valleys, “I’d make an exception, but I’d really like you to stay on top of this. I’m taking your suggestions to the board, but they’ll want to see results as soon as possible. They’ll want a plan. You brought up some good ideas for a new website, but that’s all it is. We need a firm concept, a budget calculation, the works.”
    I swallowed and as a vague sense of lightheadedness came over me, I steadied myself against the table.
    “But I’m a writer…”
    “Or you could be a project manager. Comes with a pay raise.”
    When I left the conference room, I had only the vaguest memory of agreeing to his offer. He mentioned contracts having to be drawn up and HR needing to be consulted, but he wanted to give me a shot.
    Then I thought of Paul. I wanted to call him, tell him the good news—if that's what it was; I still couldn't tell. He had a way of really listening, though, listening in a way that led to new insights without him having to say a word. He cared; he joined in my tiny triumphs; told me he was proud of me. I would figure it out with him on the phone, but I would cry, too. And I'd have to tell him that I didn't have the faintest clue when I'd be able to take some time off. That I wasn't going to make it back to the sea, and instead would spend my weekends much like the last few: evaluating and reassessing my team's progress.
    I slumped into my chair and moved the mouse haphazardly across the pad to get rid of the screen saver. My email inbox was