“No, but it helps.”
She was silent, unable to argue.
Wes didn’t want to talk about himself anymore. He’d answered her question, and it was his turn. “Is that why you left the politics team?” he asked. “Frustration?”
“Is this your question? Are you using your point?”
“I am.”
She pushed her plate to the side, then shrugged in a fatalistic way. “I wrote an immigration story that generated a lot of anger, including a death threat from a guy who also came to my apartment.”
Wes felt sick. “Nadine.”
“He was a subscriber, if you can believe it, and he sent it under his own email. I saw a picture of him before he showed up to my place, so I recognized him.”
“What did he look like?”
She thought. “He’s one of those men who are the color of teeth.”
“Did theHeralddeal with it?” he asked gently.
“Yes. One of my colleagues had been doxed a couple months before. They’d screwed it up, and she had to move. At least that didn’t happen to me.” Her hands were balled in her lap.
“It’s still frightening. It’s good you had support from work.” He caught the way her mouth twisted. “Some support?”
“Some. They talk a lot about protecting staff, but there’s always a feeling that you can’t take the pressure if you complain. My editor was old-school and thinks the best self-care comes from a whiskey bottle and anesthetizing all emotion.”
“I know the type,” he said. “That’s why you moved to obits?”
“Yeah. I’d had enough, you know?”
“I do.” He kept his tone soft to encourage her to go on.
“Every time I saw an email from someone I didn’t know, I stressed out that it was going to be another hateful message.” Her laugh was rough enough to hurt. “I mean, I had that a couple times in obits too, but at least those had attacked my work and not me.”
“I get that,” he said.
“There’s a huge difference between being told I’m a bad journalist because I made a mistake in the date of someone’s graduation and being told I’m a bad person because I’m a woman and why didn’t I go do something useful like make a sandwich because I’m a waste of space and also ugly.”
“That’s disgusting.” Wes wasn’t a violent man, but he wanted to fight on her behalf.
She finished her drink. “I started second-guessing myself, and I couldn’t have that. It was getting to the point of moving or quitting. Or worse, getting fired. I needed a break, so I took the obits editor job.”
“Did it get better?”
“Clearly not. I fumbled Dot’s obit, and they made me night web editor. I feel nauseous every time I have to make a decision because what if I make another mistake? Before, I was always so sure of myself.”
“It’s okay to make mistakes.”
“Is it?” She gave him a wry look. “It’s been nice to be at Dot’s house. It’s important but also secret. I feel comfortable working.”
“It sounds like you haven’t felt that in a while.”
“No,” she said. “I’d almost forgotten what it was like not to dread your day.”
“It’s good that you’re finding that again, here at Dot’s.”
“Thanks.” This time, she smiled. “All it took was tracking down a mystery in a mansion with my main competition.”
