Forty-two
It was their last full day. Wes woke early to the sound of Erma purring by his ear. Nadine was on her side with her arm tucked under her head. Wes laid a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose, the only part peeking out from the hair tumbling over her face, before slowly extricating himself to not disturb the woman or the cat. Or the other cat that he’d missed lying by his feet. And the one sleeping in the middle of the floor. Sidonie-Gabrielle, as always, was gone on her mysterious adventures.
He washed up, then made coffee and took it out to the garden to watch the sun rise. Last night had been quiet, as he and Nadine took advantage of their last hours in the house to go over all their clues and the manuscript, hoping to see something they missed or make a connection that eluded them that would force Daniel to accept the story’s potential. Not for the first time and he was sure not for the last, Nadine had blown him away with her sheer determination. It had been well after midnight by the time he’d dragged her away from the library table, bleary-eyed and trembling with fatigue and frustration. She’d tossed and turned for an hour in bed before curling up against him and letting him soothe her to sleep.
Wes propped his feet up on the chair and let the sun warm his face. It was going to be another scorcher, but the morning had that slight crispness that hit at the end of August, a reminder that fall was closing in. Would Nadine like to check out the leaves with him on the weekends? Go buy butter tarts at farmers markets and, more important, agree that the ones with nuts were inferior to the plain ones? Then winter would come. They could watch movies under a blanket. Go skating at city hall. All the seasons that he could spend with her lay as stopovers on their road together.
His mother would be furious. The thought came almost clinically and without the tension he usually felt. She never liked the women Wes dated, and he’d learned it made more sense to simply not tell her. He’d have to discuss this with Nadine and see how she wanted to handle it. Later though. It would be easier when he moved, which he promised himself he would as soon as he found another job. He let himself drift off into a fantasy of having his own place. It would look a lot like Amy’s, clean and uncluttered. Maybe he’d get a cat, since his mother refused to have one in the house, and he was used to having them around. He heard a muffled meow. Erma’s tiny face appeared, and he felt his heart seize when she put a black paw against the glass. Poor kitties. They’d lost Dot, and soon they’d lose their home. Brent would treat them well though.
He’d better.
Erma disappeared, and Nadine came out yawning, her hair a wavy mess and her pajamas, the only pants she ever wore, slipping down to leave a small band of skin around her hips. She shaded her eyes against the new sun. “What are you doing out here?”
“Do you want to meet my mother?” he asked.
She didn’t seem to consider this a non sequitur. “If you want, but I’d really like to meet Amy first.”
“We can do that.” Amy was going to love Nadine.
“Is that what you’re doing? Planning dinner dates?”
He pulled her down so she was sitting in his lap with her legs over the arm of the chair. “Thinking about the fall. Do you want to go to a pumpkin patch and take photos in matching cable-knit sweaters?”
She looked at him suspiciously. “Is this a test?”
“Not at all.”
“Sure, if we can get hot cider after. I don’t have a cable-knit sweater though.”
“You can wear one of mine.” He liked the thought of her in his clothes and how they’d smell like her smoky rose perfume when she gave them back.
She laid her head on his chest, her fingers resting lightly on his collarbone as he stroked the soft wavy cloud of her hair. Nadine’s hair was usually more contained, in buns or ponytails or ruthlessly straightened. He was lucky to be the man she chose to let her guard down with.
“You said you were thinking,” she said. “Anything in particular?”
“Not really.” He reconsidered and decided to say it out loud. “I want to move out of my mother’s house.”
“I can see why. Are you nervous about what she’ll do?”
“Yeah.”
Nadine reached for his hand. “You’re going to be around when she truly needs you, but you don’t need to be at her beck and call.”
“It’s hard.” There were layers weighing down the two words.
“Amy did it. You can too.”
“Maybe.” Easier said than done. “I’ll think about it. When is Brent coming?”
“Eleven,” she said.
He ran a finger down her arm. “We have enough time to get some breakfast and do a tidy of the house.”
“Or hear me out,” she said. “We don’t do those things and go back to bed.”
Wes liked a neat house, but sometimes a man had to make sacrifices. He rose to his feet, managing not to drop Nadine as she squealed and swung her arms around his neck. “We can clean later,” he agreed.
***
Nadine was watching Wes run around with a basket of items he was taking from one spot to put away in other spots when the doorbell rang. She went to let in Brent, unsurprised he would ring before entering what was legally his own house. Small talk about traffic and the weather lasted down the hall to the kitchen, where Wes had come out from his cleaning spree to put on the coffee. They immediately revealed the entrance to the basement, with Nadine giving an animated “Ta-da!”
Brent was floored. “My aunt was something else. I should have known that she’d match a hidden door to the attic to one to the basement. She liked symmetry despite her generalized chaos.”
It took more than an hour to walk Brent through all the clues, and at the end of it, he paged through the manuscript for It Is Hellish Gain , shaking his head.
“I don’t know if her agent needs to see this,” Brent said. “Odette told me Dot never started a story without telling her, and she didn’t know about this. I think my aunt meant for this to stay private, particularly given its lack of ending.” He put it on the table and sat down on the leather couch, causing the cushion to let out a small whistle. “You said you don’t have enough evidence to try to publish?”
Wes answered. “Not after the mess with the Spear . The Herald would be reluctant as well.”
Nadine nodded. A gut check with Lisanne had told her what she suspected—Daniel wouldn’t touch this with a ten-foot pole unless there was the equivalent of a notarized admission in those clues. There was no way she could put herself out there, even to pitch it. It was too risky.
“Too bad.”
“We’re going to keep working on it after we leave,” promised Wes. “We have some ideas we can follow up on.”
“Dot would have appreciated your dedication, and so do I.” Brent looked around. “You have any problems with work because of that Spear story, Nadine?”
She shook her head. “They don’t know I’m involved.”
“There’s no reason for it,” said Wes.
Nadine knew her expression must have turned stubborn because Wes touched her hand.
“We don’t both need to lose our jobs over this,” he said softly as Brent watched them intently.
“I know you think that,” she said.
If Wes heard the ambiguous language, he ignored it. “Good.”
Brent sighed. “I’m going to miss this place.”
“You’re still selling?” Nadine followed his eyes around the lovely room, seeing it as if for the first time. The house was Dot writ large, her personality in architecture. It would be a shame to lose it.
“Yeah, you should see the property tax. Even with the inheritance, I can’t justify the cost.” He shook his hand above his head to indicate how high it was. It was high. “I wish we could keep it how it is, but that’s life.”
Nadine didn’t have an answer because it’s not like she had a few extra millions lying around for real estate investments, and she assumed the same went for Wes. Brent was right. That was indeed life.
“Now for the boring part,” said Brent. “The cleaners will be in tomorrow. I know you didn’t find exactly what you wanted, but something might come up when we clear the place out.”
Nadine was confident there wasn’t a page or box or room left unturned. “Tell us if you do. We searched everywhere but Dot’s bedroom.”
“Why not there?”
Nadine looked at him in confusion. “You said not to. It was off-limits.”
“Did I?” Brent shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t recall that. I was in a bit of a fog after her death.” Erma came in and jumped on the couch next to Brent. He turned his attention to her. “We need to find some new homes for you and your sisters,” he said.
Nadine felt Wes stiffen. “You’re not taking them?” he asked.
“My partner is allergic.” Brent scratched Erma’s head. “I’ll find them suitable homes.”
Wes’s eyebrows came down. “They’re good cats.”
“I know,” Brent reassured him. “I’ll make sure they’re happy. Anyway, want to go check that bedroom? We can do it together before I head out.”
Wes and Nadine didn’t run down the hall, but they far outpaced Brent.
“Go ahead,” he called.
Nadine put her hand on the knob, and Wes placed his hand on top, the same way he had that first day. “Ready?” he asked, smiling down at her. “Still think it’s going to be pine and white paint?”
“I thought we agreed on funky wallpaper.”
Brent caught up to them and stared at their hands. “Are you going to open that door or what?” he asked.
They twisted the knob and pushed, then stood on the threshold. “This was not what I expected,” said Wes. “But somehow also exactly what I expected.”
Dot’s room was simply beautiful, an elegant and calming space painted pale blue with white accents. It was like living in a Wedgwood cameo. A single piece of art decorated the wall, a portrait of Dot and Allan that had caught them laughing together against a hazy romantic background that would have been the first thing Dot saw when she opened her eyes. A large bed with a reasonable number of pillows was pushed against the wall, with a low blue velvet bench at the foot. A chaise lounge was placed near the gauzy curtains that covered the windows.
They split up the space, and Nadine took the closet, a huge walk-in affair that was a vintage collector’s dream. Caftans filled an entire wall, and Nadine first poked through the shoes, which ranged Victorian boots to disco platforms to an entire shelf of orthopedic runners. There were surprisingly few handbags, and all of them were empty apart from some spare change and old gum packages.
“Nothing in the washroom,” called Brent.
“All clear on the rest of the room,” said Wes.
Nadine heard the men chatting about the house sale and tuned them out. There was the faint smell of amber in the closet, and she reached out to touch a familiar outfit, the psychedelic caftan of their first meeting. It looked almost faded on the hanger, as if it had needed Dot’s personality to make it shine.
“Nadine? Brent has a meeting,” said Wes. “Did you find anything?”
“Sorry.” She came out of the closet. “Not a single thing.”
“Disappointing but not surprising.” Brent shrugged. “She called her room her oasis and refused to do anything but sleep in bed. She didn’t read or work there.”
“Goals,” said Nadine, and Brent laughed.
They walked Brent to the entrance, going over the details about locking up before they left Dot’s house tomorrow. Brent walked down the steps, then paused by his car. “Thank you for everything you’ve done,” he said. “I mean what I said about appreciating your work, regardless of the result.”
They waved goodbye and went back in the house. Wes paused as they passed the corridor leading to Dot’s room. “That’s it,” he said. “The last room checked.”
“There might be something we missed,” she said.
Wes gave her a kiss. “I doubt it,” he said. “You’re thorough.”
“True.”
He laughed and went to clear the coffee cups as Nadine walked into the library.
Everything felt gray. Soon she’d be back working the night web shift at the Herald . She looked at her phone, where she’d been reworking Dot’s obituary since she arrived, taking inspiration from Dot’s files and the obits she’d left. She could see how it would look on the page. The story it could tell, if only she had the chance.
And the nerve.
Her mother texted and disturbed her thoughts. Nadine, we bought some new locks for your apartment doors. Dad will install them on the weekend, and they’ll be good until you move home.
Thanks, Mom , she wrote back dutifully. Then Octavia jumped up before she could send and batted the phone right out of her hand. “Octavia! What are you doing?”
She picked it up and settled back in the chair, thinking about her apartment. She was tired of being scared. She wanted to tell her mother she had her life under control and didn’t need help. She wanted to push herself. To trust herself. Those 3:00 a.m. shadows weren’t where she wanted to live. She wanted to be brave again, the way Lisanne was, able to deflect the criticism and, yes, unwarranted hatred. It wasn’t right she had to deal with it to do her job, but she wasn’t going to change anything by hiding.
Catching sight of Dot’s shelves, she realized she was at her own nexus point. She tapped her fingers against the keys of the old aqua-gray typewriter, the letters worn almost to invisibility, and thought about how she felt when she was working. She felt good, as if she was doing what she’d been meant to do.
Yet she’d allowed a nasty, small-minded, hate-filled loser to take it from her, and she’d allowed her parents to pressure her until she doubted that she could manage on her own.
No, she wouldn’t blame herself. At the time, she did what she needed to. She took the break she had to.
But she wouldn’t let him or her parents steal any more of her life. She was ready to engage with the world again and to take risks.
That decision was like a puzzle piece falling from the sky to land right in the center of her mind, connecting it all together.
She stood up so fast, she made herself dizzy and reached out to the bookshelf in a desperate attempt to keep her balance. Her fingers tugged out one of the books as the black dots cleared in front of her eyes. “Wes!” she called.
“I’m right here.” He’d come in without her knowing. “What’s up?”
“I’m done being a wuss.”
“I hardly think you—”
“Wilson isn’t going to win, and we’re not going to keep looking for more proof before I bring it to the Herald .”
“We’re not?”
“No,” she said. “We have enough here to warrant a larger investigation. More than enough.”
Wes raised his eyebrows. “I hate to be unsupportive, but do you think they’ll go for it? You were pretty concerned.”
“I’m tired of self-censoring. I’m going to fight for this, and I’m going to do it now.” This was a good story, and if a powerful man didn’t like it? He could suck it. She was going to do her best to get it published instead of waiting and waiting for the perfect moment.
Wes gripped her so tight she gasped. “Are you ready for this?” he asked. “If it goes ahead, there’s going to be blowback from Wilson, and you know how people get on the internet.”
Nadine hesitated. Was she ready? Then she glanced down at the book in her hand, the one she’d yanked out trying to get her balance. Thirty Pieces of Silver . Dot’s first attempt to change things.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m ready.”
“Then you get him,” said Wes. “I’ve got your back, whatever you need.”
She grinned, a rush of adrenaline taking over the fear. “Anything?”
He leaned in closer. “Anything.”
“Good.” She grabbed Octavia away from her phone and handed the wriggling tabby over. “Take care of her for a second so I can send a text.”
Nadine deleted the message to her mother and rewrote it. It was time to make it crystal clear she was fine on her own. Thanks, but I can take care of my own security. I don’t want any more discussion about me moving. I’m staying at my place.
Then she sent it and felt free, until Wes yelped as Octavia dug in her claws and he dumped the furious cat onto her lap.
***
It was after midnight by the time they were taking a final farewell swim in the grotto. “Who do you think will buy this house?” asked Wes as he floated near Nadine. The cool water was like a balm. “I hope some hedonistic pop star who has orgies in here.”
“It’ll probably be some soulless tech bro who will turn it into a cooling chamber for his AI.” Nadine paddled her hands against the water.
“This house has some happy memories for me,” said Wes, looking up. It was cloudy, tinting the night sky lavender.
“Yeah?” Nadine moved closer. “Like what?”
“Like the time Erma threw up beside my bed,” Wes said in a contemplative tone. “Can a man say he’s lived until he’s stepped in cold cat hair balls?”
“I believe Marcus Aurelius addressed that very topic in his Meditations .” Nadine swam nearer. “Is that your only memory?”
“No.” He tried to catch his breath. Only Nadine could render him speechless like this.
“Good.” Then she kissed him, and soon Wes had a brand-new favorite memory.