Page 39 of Drop Dead
To his surprise and relief, Nadine nodded. “That makes sense. I wonder if we can find a way to reassure her.”
“I don’t know if it’s something rational you can be reassured out of.”
“You’re probably right. She didn’t look well.” Nadine glanced at him. “Should we call Brent?”
“I suggested it to Maria when we were leaving,” said Wes. “She said she’d take care of it.”
“I’m worried,” she said.
Wes weighed his options—to be honest or to be comforting—then defaulted to the latter. “She’ll be fine. She’s thinking about the past, and I’m sure it’s bringing up feelings for her.”
“You’re lying,” Nadine said. “You’re concerned too. You’re thinking about what she said about death and if her nails looked blue or if it was your imagination.”
“How did you know?” He was astounded at her perceptiveness.
“We’ve known each other a long time, Wes.”
“Yeah. We have.” He found a strange comfort in that. There was distance between them, but Nadine had been there to witness his first awkward attempts at writing and his terrible bowl cut when he was twenty. Mocking him lightly, to be sure. Always with an eye to beat him, absolutely. But she’d been there, driving him to do better.
He tried not to think about what he had named The Night. That winter university party when he caught her as she stumbled over someone’s foot in the hallway, her hair wavy with the heat of the house instead of blown straight and tied back the way it usually was. Her brown eyes had seemed bigger than usual, which was saying a lot because Nadine in her natural state had what he mentally thought of as doe eyes, although it would take torture for him to admit it out loud. Her lips had been wet and red, and when she smiled up at him, his heart thumped so hardhe felt it in his throat, and he thought,Oh my God. For the too-brief moment she’d been in his arms, she’d been warm and so alive he nearly burst.
Then of course he’d ruined it, making some crack about an award she’d won over him, and she’d stepped away, lips thinning and eyes narrowing.
Wes cursed his excellent memory, which had him reliving those six seconds from a decade ago with disturbing regularity.
“I like her,” said Wes, rubbing at a streak of dirt on his pant leg and bringing the conversation back to the safer territory of Dot.
Nadine hummed in agreement. “She makes me feel like her books do, that there’s always another meaning behind what I understand but can never seem to grasp.”
Wes nodded vigorously. “I feel the same. I have a good feeling about week five. Five is the charm for Dot.”
“I hope so.” Nadine waved as he got out of the car.
He watched her drive away, Daft Punk drifting out of her open window from the radio, and was glad they’d handled this shift in their relationship like professional adults. It was much better to work with someone he got along with.
After the intensity of the afternoon, he couldn’t bring himself to go into the house where his mother was undoubtedly waiting, so he went to the park down the street. A woman was tightrope walking between two trees, and a group of kids screamed on the pitch as they played a chaotic version of softball. Lounging people were scattered across the grass, and he did a quick scan of their picnic blankets. Not a swatch of chintz or gingham in sight.
No wonder he wanted to get back onto the I-team. It wasn’t that he didn’t like working for Rebecca—she was great—or minded most of the stories he did. He knew it was important for people to occasionally read the news and not be depressed. Sun care tips were service journalism after all, and highlighting local designers brought attention totheir work. These were good things, and he should be grateful he had a job instead of bitter that it wasn’t exactly what he dreamed of doing.
Morose, he pulled out his phone to text Caleb, who was always good for a pick-me-up and usually free to talk on Sunday afternoons.
Hey, he wrote.How’s Calgary?
Caleb wrote back immediately.Same old. It was good to come home for a visit. Isabel isn’t too happy this contract was extended.
Wes decided to call.
“Hey, man. What’s up?” When Caleb finally answered the phone, Wes knew something was wrong. Caleb never sounded low. He was permanently wired to look on the bright side.
“Contract extension?” Wes asked immediately.
“Yeah, you know what this job is, but it’s good money.”
“You said Isabel didn’t want you to take any extensions.”
“Sure, but she wants all this fancy shit for the wedding, and I want to make her happy.”
Wes watched a kid drop a ball. “Did you talk to her?”
