10. Nell #2
The flight was ninety minutes.
I sat there and looked at the sky and I didn't let myself think about anything except what I was going to say when I got there.
When we landed I went straight to the building.
The receptionist looked up when I walked in.
"Mrs. Crowe," she said, and her voice was surprised. Careful. "We didn't know you were coming."
"I need to see my husband."
"Of course. He's in a meeting right now. If you'd like to wait in the lounge?—"
"I'll go up."
"I should call ahead?—"
"That's fine. Call him. Tell him I'm on my way up."
She picked up the phone. Started to dial.
I didn't wait for her to finish.
I walked past the desk and through the double doors and took the elevator to the eighth floor.
The doors opened and I stepped out into the hall.
I'd been here three times in six years. Always when he'd asked me to come. Always when there was something he wanted me to see or someone he wanted me to meet.
I'd never come on my own.
Winston was coming out of the conference room when I stepped off the elevator. He saw me and stopped.
"Nell."
I kept walking.
"Where is he?"
"He's in his office, but?—"
"Thank you."
I walked past him down the hall to the office at the end.
The door was closed.
I opened it.
Beckett was standing at the window with his back to the door. He turned when I came in.
"Nell."
I closed the door behind me and stood there.
He looked like he hadn't slept. His shirt was wrinkled. There was a line between his eyes I'd never seen before. His hair was pushed back like he'd been running his hands through it.
He looked at me and something crossed his face. Relief, maybe. Or fear.
"What happened?" he said.
"Talia came to see me."
He went very still.
"When?"
"This morning. At the mill."
I watched his face change.
"What did she say?"
"She brought a dress. Said the contract was terminated and she wanted to return it."
Something moved across his face. Then he shook his head.
"Nell. Whatever she told you?—"
"She told me you made it. That you hand-finished it yourself. At four in the morning." I kept my voice level. Calm. "She showed me the seams."
"Nell, I can explain?—"
"Can you?"
He took a step toward me. Stopped.
"It's not what you think."
"She told me you said I was the one thing you didn't have to manage."
He stopped.
The room went quiet.
"I never said that to her."
"You said it to me." My voice was steady. Quiet. "In the car. After the gala. You said I was the one thing in your life you didn't have to worry about. The one thing you didn't have to work on. Everything else is a fight, you said. But not me. Not us."
"That was different."
"Was it?"
"Yes. Nell, I was trying to tell you?—"
"That I was easy."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
"She was there," I said.
He stared at me.
"Three weeks ago. When I came to New York. I stood in your workroom and you had your back turned. You were bent over your table and you didn't hear me and I stood there and then I left."
I took a breath.
"She was in the mirror. She saw me. You didn't. But she did."
His face went white.
"Nell—"
"She watched me. And she said nothing. And I turned around and left and you never knew I'd been there."
"Listen to me." His voice was low. Tight. "Nothing happened. She's lying to you."
"Is the dress a lie?"
He didn't answer.
"Is it?" I said. "Did you make it or didn't you?"
"I made it."
"Did you sit up until four in the morning hand-finishing every seam yourself?"
He closed his eyes. "Yes."
"Is the cloth from my mill?"
"Yes."
"Did you buy blanket cloth from Ivester Woolen and put it into a gown for her?"
"It wasn't for her. It was?—"
"Then who was it for?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
"You told her you'd take care of me properly after the wedding line shipped," I said. "After the wedding line shipped, things would change. You'd have time. Real time. You could give me what I needed."
"I did say that."
"To her."
"To you. I said it to you."
"You said it to both of us."
He didn't answer.
There was nothing he could say that was both true and any use.
I looked at him. At the man I'd married six years ago when he owed forty thousand dollars and owned one machine. The man who'd kissed me in the glass house and told me I was the one thing in his life he didn't have to worry about.
"I don't care if you slept with her," I said.
He stared at me.
"I don't. I don't care if you touched her or kissed her or spent one single night in her bed. That's not the question."
"Then what is?"
"You built a place in your life for a woman to stand in," I said. "You gave her your time. Your attention. Your work. You hand-finished a gown for her at four in the morning and you've never made me anything. Not in six years. Not once."
"Nell—"
"You bought my mother's cloth and you gave it to her and you thought it was a gift to me."
My voice stayed level. I didn't raise it. I didn't break.
"You told her you'd take care of me after the line shipped. You said it to her, Beckett. Not to me. To her. Like I was something that needed handling. Something you had under control."
"That's not what I meant?—"
"Whether or not she got into your bed is a detail."
He didn't speak.
He stood there and looked at me and I watched him try to find the words.
I watched him fail.
"I want a divorce."