Epilogue
Two years later
Nadine checked her email to see another request, this time from a woman whose mother had been one of the first to travel the country by dogsled. I hope this isn’t too morbid, but my mother is dying, and it would be a shame for her to leave this world without anyone knowing her story. She loves your obituaries and says she reads them every day to see who she’s outlasted. Despite her little joke, it would be a great honor for her to be in the Herald . She would not be averse to chatting with you before she passes.
Nadine smiled and forwarded it to one of her freelancers to look into. She’d been the obituary editor for two years now, and in that time, she’d made it into the section she wanted. A growing and enthusiastic readership confirmed she’d made the right decisions.
“Hello.” Irina came by her desk with a package. “I found this for you.”
Nadine unwrapped the tissue with trepidatious fingers to reveal a lovely marble angel with her arms crossed over her chest and one hand raised to her throat. “Irina, this is gorgeous.”
“The Angel of the Resurrection ,” said Irina. “The original was sculpted in 1882 by Giulio Monteverde for Francesco Oneto to honor his family’s memory.”
“Thank you.” Nadine’s collection had grown to take up half the table and included a model of a Victorian funeral carriage and a skeleton that could be taken apart bone by bone. This was from Raj, who had given it to her over drinks a month after she started back as editor. The hearse remained her favorite and was the paperweight for the collection of obituaries she’d found at Dot’s house. Occasionally she read through them for inspiration and as a reminder that every person had a story.
“Hey, you going to the staff meeting tomorrow?” Lisanne popped up when Irina had left, Ying at her side. “Hetty had her meeting with Olivia last week, so we get the updated targets.” Hetty had been appointed editor in chief after Olivia had taken charge. Daniel had moved to a paper in Tampa.
Lisanne’s story had been such a blockbuster, she was about to go on book leave for six months to do a more in-depth study. Ying, who had turned down a manager position because she loved working with data, would be taking a month to help. They’d moved into their own place in October, and Lisanne had deleted all her dating apps with great fanfare.
“I’ll be there.” Nadine was distracted by an email coming in from [email protected].
The Apex , formally the Spear , was Brent Tatterly’s new venture. He’d rescued the Spear from bankruptcy with his inheritance from Dot Voline, saying he’d always wanted to be a media tycoon. As well as a heavy emphasis on the arts—a section run by Wes’s old Lifestyle editor Rebecca—the Apex had quickly earned a reputation for its investigative journalism. Hetty had tried to poach Wes twice but couldn’t compete with the carte blanche Brent gave him. His first story had been about John Wilson, his misdeeds, their impact, and how other powerful men had ignored the whispers and out-and-out complaints over the years. Wilson had been forced to quit politics and lived entirely at his cottage in Muskoka. Nadine had heard there were lawsuits in the works for his financial misdeeds and criminal charges. Other reporters were looking into Matt White and the influence of the White Group. Dot would have liked that, almost as much as Nadine had liked that Tyler had been fired on the first day of Brent’s takeover. Jason as well.
The only issue Wes had with his new job was that Brent continued to insist there was a nefarious story behind the use of construction pylons. So far, he hadn’t been able to find it.
Read at end of day , the subject line said. She checked the time. It was 4:54, so close enough.
To the editor of the Herald obituary section. I have an obituary for consideration. Please respond ASAP.
She scrolled down.
Regardless of his actual birth date, Wesley Chen—Wes to his friends—considered his life to have only started in university. Journalism 102, when he met Nadine Barbault, to be exact. She was his rival from the moment he beat her handily on an assignment.
Here Nadine frowned. She absolutely got the higher mark, and they would have a talk about this revisionist history.
A decade of pining and rivalry was alleviated one summer night in a pagoda, when Nadine finally admitted that he wasn’t totally awful.
In that moment, Wes became complete.
When Wes was younger, there was a couple—he thought they were ancient, but they were probably only fifty—who he used to watch from his window as they left the house, hand in hand. Sometimes they were laughing. Sometimes, one would pause at the bottom to wait while the other locked the door, always twisting the knob to check. How could they be so sure of each other? How could they always trust the other would be there? How could you make your happiness dependent on another?
Meeting Nadine answered all those questions. For the first time in his life, Wes understood how it was possible to love someone so much that home was no longer a where but a who. To have a person to share both your best and worst self. To know you were safely loved even when you felt you didn’t deserve it.
During his life, Wes found joy in many things. He loved his work as a journalist and his family. He loved his four gorgeous furry girls: Erma, Octavia, Murasaki, and Sidonie-Gabrielle. He loved going for walks and baking for Nadine, especially after the time she insisted garlic shortbread was made by simply adding minced garlic to a regular shortbread recipe. She was wrong, and for once, she admitted it.
Most of all, he loved Nadine.
They brought each other patience when rushed.
Compassion when troubled.
Inspiration when discouraged.
And acceptance, always.
There was sweetness in every day of his existence, and his wife was the sweetest of all.
Nadine picked up her phone with shaking hands. Wes answered on the first ring.
“Hello,” she said, feeling giddy. “This is Nadine Barbault from the Herald . I’d like to chat about this obit you sent through.”
“Thanks for the quick reply,” said Wes. “Is there an issue?”
“A small one I’d like to discuss,” she said. “Do you have time to talk?”
“You know, this might be better to discuss in person. Are you available at the moment?” His voice sounded a bit faint.
“I am, yes.” She tried to get the smile off her face and keep her voice professional. “Where would you like to meet?”
“I believe there’s a small park near your office.”
Nadine had never run out of the office faster. She was down the stairs and across the street in less than a minute. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she scanned the parkette until she saw Wes standing under a tree and waving to her. He looked gorgeous as always, with his black shirt tucked into his black pants, the sleeves rolled up, and his hair a little messy.
As if he’d been running his hand through it.
As if he’d been nervous.
“Hello, Nadine.”
She stopped right in front of him, smiling so hard she could barely speak. “Hello, Wes.”
“So,” he said, and she could see the sweat beading his forehead. “You said there was something wrong with the obit?”
“There was. A slight inaccuracy, and the Herald prides itself on its quality journalism.”
“Oh?” He tried to look surprised, and she saw his pulse flutter in the throat she’d kissed so many times. “What part?”
“The part where it said you had a wife. Can we edit that line to make it correct?” It was like there was a spotlight blotting out everything but him.
“We might not have to.” He opened his hand. “Nadine Barbault. My joint and favorite competitor in this game of life. Will you marry me?”
She gazed at the ring sitting in his shaking palm. It was white gold, with an opal and tiny diamonds. Small flags were engraved on the inside. It looked familiar. “Is that Dot’s?” she asked.
He went red. “I asked Brent if I could buy it from her estate. You admired it one day, and she told you it was the ring she bought with her first royalty check from Thirty Pieces .”
“Wes.” She could barely speak. “I love it. Thank you.”
“So is that a yes?” he asked a bit impatiently. “You’re kind of leaving me hanging here.”
Tempting though it was to keep teasing him, Nadine threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Yes.”
He kissed her back, then touched their foreheads together. “Thank God,” he said. “Caleb got me worried when he told me this was too morbid for a proposal.”
“It’s not for everyone,” she said.
“That’s all right. It only has to be for you.” He kissed her again, then covered her face with kisses until she laughed. “I was thinking we could get married at Dot’s estate. You know the museum group that bought it from Brent when his buyer fell through?”
“Yes.” Sales of Dot’s books had skyrocketed in light of Wilson’s unmasking, so Brent decided to take the lower offer from the museum, which had kept the house as it was and dedicated it to Dot and her works.
“They’re opening up an event space.”
“I love it.” It had that beautiful symmetry Dot admired. “I love you,” she added.
He tucked his head into her neck. “A good thing, because the cats would have been furious if you’d said no.”
“Not Erma,” said Nadine. “She wants you to herself.”
“I am popular with the ladies,” he said modestly.
“Ladies?”
He grinned. “Yeah. You and her.” He slipped the ring on her finger and kissed her hand. “That’s all I need.”