“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 itwas 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.
Fourteen
In the car, Wes stayed quiet until they passed through the gates, thinking over the last hour. “That was weird,” he said. “Do you think that was weird?”
Nadine flipped on the turn signal. “Yes. You might be right about her being nervous. Each time, she’s getting closer to letting it go.”
“We didn’t get to follow up on what she said last week about writing for revenge.”
“I couldn’t find a way to bring it up,” Nadine said, lifting her shoulders as if in defeat. “Not the way the conversation was going.”
“Me neither. Also.” He paused to find the words. “What she said about your obituary section.”
Nadine held up a hand. “She was right.” The firmness in her voice surprised him. “I could have done more. Thanks for sticking up for me.”
“You’re welcome.” He changed the topic, not sure how to react to her gratitude, brisk though it was, which made him feel confusingly good. “I’ll be sad when she tells us her secret and we have to stop going over.”
“Maybe she’ll let us come by for visits.” Nadine sounded hopeful.
Wes had an idea he knew was woo-woo, then decided to say it. “What if she thinks when she tells us, she’ll have nothing left to live for?”