Thirteen
Nadine pulled up at Wes’s house a few minutes early and tried to decide the best way to deal with him. They hadn’t texted after their semi-apology exchange on Wednesday, which was fine by Nadine. She was satisfied with how they’d gotten over their spat. It wasn’t like they were friends, despite their long history, and they didn’t need to have heart-to-heart discussions when they disagreed. The best way to move forward was as if they were work acquaintances from different departments. That was the energy she’d go for. In the spirit of good working relationships, she would even refrain from mentioning that she knew he ate one of the lemon squares from her box.
Pulling out her phone to tell him she’d had to park half a block away, she saw a text from Lisanne. I heard something.
Gossip was always a good bonding mechanism, particularly helpful since Nadine knew she hadn’t been the best friend to Lisanne after the news about her big story. At least Lisanne had been too busy to notice. Tell me , she wrote, grateful text made it possible to camouflage emotional nuance.
The response came fast. The Herald is hiring a Bay Area correspondent. It’s for a year.
Nadine read the message twice and felt her heart sink to her knees then jump to clog her throat. It was an unnerving sensation. Really? She wrote. That was neutral.
You’d be perfect for it. Think of all those times you talked about wanting a foreign corro position.
They’ve been hinting at this for two years , Nadine typed, which was true. I’ll believe it when I see it.
She could worry about applying when it happened. She wasn’t going to have to push herself yet.
True , replied Lisanne. I can put in a good word to Daniel if you want.
Nadine glared at the screen. She might not be the editor in chief’s golden child, but she didn’t need Lisanne’s help to get ahead.
I’m good, thanks. That should put an end to that.
She saw Wes looking around, dressed in a natty polo instead of his usual sweater, a rare admission of sartorial defeat under the intense onslaught of the July sun. She gave a little beep of the horn, and he turned like a model about to board his yacht.
“Thanks for picking me up,” he said when he opened the door.
“No problem.”
He got in, and her eyes snapped to the deep line of his triceps as he reached for the seat belt. She hadn’t known Wes worked out, but she appreciated the results. In a work acquaintance kind of way.
“Here.” He handed over a small paper bag.
She looked inside. “A brownie?”
“I ate one of your squares from Maria accidentally.”
“Accidentally?”
“Accidentally on purpose,” he admitted. “Then I felt a bit bad because they were pretty delicious.”
The brownie looked amazing, with sea salt on the top. “Is this a bribe?”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Just eat the brownie, Nadine.”
She did. It was good.
Neither of them mentioned their earlier texts, and she could tell he was making an effort to be collegial, the same as she was. They kept the conversation to the news and benign media chatter in a surprisingly companionable way as they zipped through the light traffic. It helped get her mind off Lisanne’s text.
At Dot’s, they found Maria at the door, ready to walk them in. “The conservatory today,” she said with a faint air of displeasure. “She got it into her head to do some gardening.”
Nadine gave her habitual wave to Sir Latimer as Wes nodded to the cheetah, which Dot had named Janice. The secret outline of a cat, maybe the elusive Sidonie-Gabrielle, disappeared down a hall as they passed, uninterested in the visitors.
The conservatory was two steps down from the salon, and the doors opened with a whoosh when Maria pressed against them, letting out a humid breath.
“Tea will be out here when you’re done,” said Maria. “I don’t go in there. It ruins my hair.”
Nadine touched her own head, a lost cause as the heat had already given her a thin layer of frizzies.
“This could be my favorite room,” Wes said in astonishment.
“Better than the library?”
“Even the library. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Neither had Nadine. The conservatory was all glass, but the windows were thinly scummed with a brownish fuzz that gave the space a hushed feel. A koi pond contained orange fish swimming lazily around rocks and half-sunken statuary, and the surrounding paths wound through lush tropical plants.
“I didn’t take you for a plant guy,” she said.
“Yeah, I know my way around a bromeliad.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“You’re late.” Dot appeared from around the curved corner of a path, dressed in a pale gold caftan and dragging her oxygen tank. Her bronze sandals slapped against the soles of her feet, and her jewelry was all silver. She looked like a slightly tarnished Academy Award.
Nadine didn’t protest this lie. “This is incredible,” she said.
“I would live here,” Wes agreed.
Dot snapped a pair of small scissors at him, red-lipsticked mouth opening wide as she laughed. “The wages of sin.”
She motioned for them to follow her deeper into the conservatory. Huge palms brushed Nadine’s bare arms, making her shiver, and soon they arrived at a potting station. Dot pointed to a gigantic canvas apron. “Keep that dress clean, girl.”
Nadine pulled it on, struggling to do the ties at the back.
“Good Lord, this is painful to watch,” said Dot. “Handsome, give her a hand.”
“I’m fine.” Nadine dropped the sash again, and Wes sighed.
“Please let me help. Otherwise, this will take all day.”
He stood behind her, hands tracing along her waist as he reached for the ends of the sash. Defeated, Nadine lifted her arms slightly to give him more space as he pulled the sash tight around her body. It didn’t take him long to tie the bow, but she felt each tug of the fabric as if it was Wes’s hands touching her. It wasn’t until he was done that Nadine realized she was breathing harder than usual. This was different. This was unexpected. She quickly stepped away to adjust a fern.
Dot’s thinly curved, penciled eyebrows raised high, but she only said, “Time to work.”
She directed them with short commands. Wes picked up the potting soil and a bag of pebbles, and Nadine washed and sanitized some simple terra-cotta pots. They looked like the same ones she bought at the garden center every May but were probably of some fancy clay that cost several hundred dollars.
“Nadine,” said Dot, wheezing slightly. Was this humidity good for her? Nadine didn’t want to presume she knew the woman’s health better than she did, but Dot didn’t look well. Wes dragged over a wooden stool carved with butterflies, and Dot used his arm to lower herself down.
“Yes?” Nadine asked when Dot was seated. Wes dabbed at his face. She wasn’t surprised that apart from a bit of glowy perspiration, he was as tidy as when they arrived. Her dress, on the other hand, was damp with sweat and her arms dusted with soil.
“Did you read the rest of that obituary I gave you? Mary Linquist?” Dot must have read in her face that she hadn’t, because she brandished an old newspaper from a pile on the potting table. “Do you read obituaries at all?”
Nadine ran her fingers through the damp, warm soil. “Not since they changed my job.”
“Why not?”
She glanced at Wes, unsure if she was comfortable speaking freely in front of him, then decided she’d have to risk it. If she wanted Dot to be vulnerable and share her story, she would have to share herself. “They’re obituaries. They’re depressing, and it upsets me to read about people who are gone forever.”
“You were the obituary editor,” observed Dot.
“I did the crime beat for a while, and I didn’t like that either. I don’t have to like something to understand it plays an important role in the paper and for people.” Nadine tried not to feel defensive, but it was hard when Dot was looking at her with what felt like disappointment. “I did my best to make sure we covered the impact of significant people.”
“Yet mine was dull as dishwater.”
“The Herald has a…” Nadine struggled for a better word before admitting what it was. “A formula for their obits. It doesn’t leave a lot of room for creativity.”
“I see.” Dot reached down the front of her caftan and pulled out a newspaper clipping. Wes’s face was a study in a man doing his best to keep his eyes up.
Nadine grinned at her. “That’s quite the filing system.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Dot unfolded the sheet. “Obituaries are life-affirming.”
“They are?” Wes sounded interested and not dismissive, and Nadine relaxed. It was a relief not to have to be on her guard against him, at least as tightly. It made having this conversation with Dot, which seemed to be centered on Nadine’s flaws, easier. She wished she could leave this topic to segue into what Dot said last week about writing for revenge, but it looked like she’d have to be patient.
Dot ran her pen along the newsprint to underline it. “This woman ran a bakery with the best buns in town—that was her tagline—and it turned out she had also saved three hundred people during World War II before she immigrated to Canada. She lived her life like it was the only one she had.” She looked at Nadine over her glasses. “What does this tell you?”
Nadine hazarded a guess. “There are good people in the world?”
Dot waved that away. “Of course, but what else?”
Nadine glanced at Wes to indicate it was his turn, but he shrugged as if to say she was on her own. She tried again. “That people are more than what we see on the surface?”
“Yes.” Dot hid the clipping away. “An obituary is a story. You were in the unique position of determining how a person would be remembered by telling that story. You were the final conduit between a human being’s only life and the wider world. That was your responsibility, and for me, you failed to tell the story well.”
The words were blunt enough that Nadine would have felt crushed and humiliated, especially in front of Wes, had Dot not said them so gently, almost tenderly, if that was a word that could be applied to Dot Voline. The obits job had been a job, and one Nadine had taken out of desperation and not desire. Had she squandered an opportunity?
Wes stepped slightly forward. “Nadine’s section was always good,” he said to Dot. “It’s unfair of you to act as if she did wrong when she was doing what she was supposed to do. Her work was always appropriate for the section and the audience.”
She felt a sudden rush of gratitude toward Wes. His eyes moved from Dot to give Nadine a long look that made her feel a little tingly. She might have to reevaluate him. No. It was smart to be cautious. Wes could be charming her into letting her guard down so he could get the advantage when he needed.
“True enough, true enough. You’re young,” Dot said. “Here’s a word of advice from an old woman. Once you start digging for a person’s real story, you can learn much. Remember that.” She coughed and pointed to the pots as if to tell them to get back to work. By the time they were done and Nadine was washing her arms under the refreshingly cold water from the tap, Dot was panting.
Wes offered her his arm, and Nadine took charge of pulling the oxygen. Maria met them at the door, shaking her head as Wes helped Dot up the two steps to the main room. The fresh air hit like a slap, and Nadine’s damp skirt clung unpleasantly to her legs.
Wes made Dot her tea without asking and fixed her a small plate of finger sandwiches and tiny scones jeweled with pralines. Nadine bit into her own, surprisingly hungry after working in the conservatory.
“What do you think would happen if we didn’t?” asked Dot finally, dusting her fingers on a pale pink linen napkin.
Wes shot Nadine a questioning look but she shrugged, not knowing where Dot was going with this either. “Didn’t what?” he asked.
“What if we didn’t live like this was our only life?” Dot asked as if continuing a conversation she’d been having with herself. Her red lipstick was smeared under her lip, making her mouth a bruised shadow. “If we lived like we would live forever.”
“That would be existing and not living.” Nadine answered, not waiting for Wes. “Knowing there’s an eventual end to this life is what makes me want to actually do things.” She pushed aside the little voice that whispered liar in her ear. Thanks to the threats and the Voline slip, she was anxious about work and making mistakes. Anxious about doing .
No, anxious wasn’t right.
Scared. She was flat-out scared, although she would never admit it to a soul. It would be like saying her parents were right. It was shameful to be frightened about making a mistake. Worried was tolerable. Vigilant , that was an action word, thus acceptable. Anxious had become such a watered-down default term that it seemed stranger when someone said they weren’t anxious than when they were. But to be scared? That was for children.
Then Dot said, “I’m dying.” Nadine opened her mouth with an instinctive need to deny it, but Dot gave her an amused look. “Don’t bother,” she said. “You called it, though I have some time left.”
“Sorry,” Nadine muttered. No wonder she dreaded making mistakes when she had to relive them for eternity. Not for the first time did she wish she had one of those monumental egos that simply refused to acknowledge the existence of any error that originated with oneself.
“Dying gives you clarity,” Dot said, flexing her worn hands with their silver rings. “Not a lot. Not for everyone. It’s a privilege to have an opportunity to reflect on your life.” She looked at Nadine. “And a very specific privilege to know how you’ll be remembered.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” asked Wes. He sat on the edge of the turquoise settee, hands flat on the seat. “Reflecting?”
Dot laughed, a long breathy gasp. “I’ve been doing that my whole life. Every book I wrote was a mirror. Before, it was subconscious, disguised under the pleasure of expressing the perfect line at the perfect time. Now I look back consciously, asking myself all the whys I never had the time or courage to answer.”
Nadine didn’t know where to look. Dot’s voice had turned somber, and it was this shift from her usual light mocking tone that told her it was no longer a game. They had been cast as witnesses to the final days of a woman who knew it.
The room was quiet. Then Dot sighed, a soft sound that barely carried past the cup in her trembling hand.
“What whys in particular are you considering?” asked Wes.
Nadine was filled with relief. While she was struggling with what to say and how to say it, Wes’s response was as honestly seeking as Dot’s was expressive. It was a moment of confession he had heard and honored.
“The whys of regrets. The whys of decisions and of unintended consequences.” Dot put her cup down. “Do you know, in my life, I can’t think of a single negative that hasn’t had some positive result? Rarely in the moment but always later. When I looked back with quieter eyes, I could see the golden threads of possibility knitting into that moment, readying themselves to be unfurled like flags.”
Nadine shivered. This was the Dot she’d known from her books, the brilliant woman who crafted masterpieces at the rickety desk in the other room. Her voice had the cadence of an orator.
Then Dot pulled back, laughing enough to trigger another coughing fit. “Hopefully I’ll remember those mistakes for my next life,” she said. “Or maybe I won’t need to because we enter the void of nothingness and become worm food. I’ll let you know.”
“How?” asked Wes, shifting with the mood faster than Nadine, who remained under the spell of Dot’s earlier thoughts.
Dot winked. “I’ll find a way.”
Maria came then, to see if they wanted more tea. She took one look at Dot and said, “You need to rest.”
“Quit your nagging,” said Dot, but her eyelids were fluttering.
Wes was the first to stand, and this time, he held his hand out to Dot. Not to shake but simply to hold. She took it and said, “Look at this, still getting the boys in my dotage. Take notes, girl.”
“We’ll see you next week,” said Wes gently.
“Wear something you can get messy,” she said, eyes closing as she slumped against the settee. “I have work to do in the grotto, and you always look so clean. Like you were outlined with a marker instead of painted with watercolors.”
“You got it,” said Wes with a jaunty salute.
Nadine lingered at the door, then turned to look at Dot, wanting to say something but not knowing what. To her surprise, Dot was staring at her with glittering eyes. She pulled the obituary out from her top and tucked it into a book as if to mark the page.
“Remember” was all she said before waving Nadine away.