“For your family?”
He nodded. “I tried. I really did. I managed a bit with Ella, but Amy is a mess, and Ma…Ma is herself.”
“Oh, Wes.” Her face was sad.
“Yeah?”
She leaned over to look him in the eye. “I want to tell you something.”
“Okay.” He physically braced himself, and Nadine took his hand.
“You are not responsible for making me happy.” She said it simply, like it was common knowledge. “That is not your job.”
Wes blinked. Amy had said the same thing, but hearing it from Nadine made him reassess the words in a different way. “Yes, it is.”
“I don’t want this to get too circular, but nope, it’s not.” She took his other hand. “Obviously, this is not carte blanche to actively be a dick; let me get that clear. You can play a role in making me happy, but ultimately, it’s up to me whether I am. Not you.”
Wes sat for a few moments, absorbing what she’d said. He felt a little stunned at how matter-of-fact she was, like it really was that simple. Could it be? He could almost feel his mind shifting to accommodate this, and it was a struggle. “It’s a lot for me to think about,” he said finally.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll both take a break.”
He kissed her, holding her face in his hands, and then kissed her nose and eyes and cheeks for the pleasure of it. She’d stopped his spiraling, and although he wasn’t sure he believed her—it wasn’t his job to make her happy?—he was willing to think about it.
Another one of those cables seemed to snap from around his chest, and he breathed freer once more.
Thirty-eight
Nadine watched Wes leave, hoping he understood what she was trying to say and aching for his situation. She’d be sure to reassure him until he knew she meant it.
“A break, Nadine.” Wes’s voice echoed through the room from the kitchen.
“I will.” He probably meant a walk in the garden or something, but she followed Erma to the library, where she sat down at Dot’s desk for the first time. This was where Dot had written over twenty books. She’d struggled and dreamed and put her thoughts down letter by letter to build worlds for Nadine and millions of others to sink into.
This was the desk where she’d unburdened herself. Unable to publicly accuse her betrayer, she’d sat and written the book out of her soul.
Nadine wasn’t sure how long she stared out the window at the trees before Wes came in. “Lunch will be ready in a minute, but I thought you’d like this.” He put a cup of tea on the desk. “What are you thinking about?”
“How Dot felt whenThirty Pieces of Silverwas published. Was shescared? Worried about what Wilson would do? Cold at the idea that her own secret previous life as Mildred might come out before she was ready to reveal it?”
“Or did she feel triumphant?” asked Wes. “Glad to have told her story?”
She’d focused only on the negative, but Wes was right. “I don’t know,” she said.
“I’ll tell you what I think.” Wes leaned against the old desk, worn and scratched. “She wrote it, and she was frightened. After all, back then, Wilson had more power. More money. More social capital and people willing to overlook his sleaze for whatever selfish reason they had.”
Nadine was listening so hard her ears were buzzing. “Then why did she go ahead with it?”
“Because she needed to call him out, to call out men like him, and this was the way she knew how.”
“She named it revenge.”
“I prefer to call it justice,” he said. “Dot’s desire for justice trumped her fear, but she needed a little help to confront him. He’s a bad enemy.”
“So she’s using us.”
“She put her faith in us,” Wes corrected. “Come to the kitchen when you’re ready.”
He levered himself up from the table and gave her a little kiss on the forehead, as if understanding she needed to reflect by herself.
