Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
“I asked if you’d reviewed the eastern survey.” Her tone is patient. “The one from 1847. It contradicts the treaty language.”
“Right.” I pull the document toward me, but my eyes drift to my phone. If everyone eats her sourdough before I get home to have a slice, I’ll ban everyone from eating bread. Mable would overrule me. The thought makes me smile; I enjoy when she gets a little pushy and worked up. She’s adorable, and I can’t tell her no. If we have little girls, one day I’ll be a goner. They’ll run circles around me. Have me wrapped around their little fingers just like Mable currently does.
“Caldwell.”
“Yes. I’m here.” I force myself to focus. The survey. The boundary. The endless negotiations.
I can feel Cordelia watching. Has her stare always been so assessing? She’s been very calculating lately, always three steps ahead. That’s what it’s felt like over the last few weeks, or maybe all this shit is getting to my head.
“How is Mable settling in?” she asks casually. “I worry she’s bored. All that time in the archives.”
I look up. “She’s not bored.” In fact, I’m starting to get jealous of dusty boxes; Jenson, who gets to drive her around; the chef, who gets to try all her food; and Mrs. P, who makes her giggle.
“Of course.” Cordelia moves to the window, adjusting the curtain that didn’t need it. “I don’t want you to worry, but she mentioned feeling isolated. The staff can be distant. And the protocols overwhelm her. She told me she feels like she’s performing, never quite getting it right.”
“When did she tell you this?” I watch her.
“Oh, when we’ve had lunch a few times. She’s sweet, Caldwell. Really tries.” A pause. “She worries she’s not enough for you. For all of this.” Cordelia waves her hand around. “And she’s missing her friend.”
I know the last one to be true, but as for the others, this is news to me. I drop my pen, letting it roll across the map.
“Mable doesn’t worry about being enough,” I say defensively.
“Doesn’t she?” Cordelia steps closer, her hand brushing my arm as she reaches for a file. “She’s young, Caldwell. Overwhelmed. I think she’s trying so hard to fit in that she’s losing herself.” She pauses, her eyes holding mine. “I worry that she’s going to leave and then, well—” If she’s implying that I would be broken if she left, she’d be correct.
But Mable wouldn’t be gone for long. I would drag her little ass right back or, if I had to, follow her and stay wherever.
“She’s not going to leave,” I get out through gritted teeth. The thought alone is pissing me the fuck off.
“I just want you to know that I’ll be here if anything happens. And when we’re done with this project, I hope we can still work together. I’ve valued this time with you.” Her hand comes down on my arm now, not brushing it. I already told her to stop with that touching shit.
I step back. “We should finish.”
Something flickers across her face. Annoyance, maybe. Calculation? A mix of the two. “Of course.”
But I see it now. The careful mentions of Mable’s supposed fears. The positioning. The implication that she and I have some partnership Mable could never understand. Cordelia isn’t helping. She’s building a case, brick by brick. Trying to keep herself relevant in my life. She’s trying to sabotage Mable.
How dumb does she think I am? While Mable might be getting more comfortable with Cordelia, I have not. If anything, I’m paying closer attention to everything when it comes to her. I need to untangle this carefully. Without destroying both families.
But if it comes to that, then so be it. All my life I have given and given. Everything planned out for me from the moment I was born. This, however, Mable, is not something I will concede.
“I have to go.” I’m already grabbing my phone, shoving papers into my bag, not caring about order. I’ll figure it out later.
“Caldwell, we haven’t finished the—”
“It can wait.” I’m at the door, hand on the handle, not looking back. “Send me your notes. I’ll review them tomorrow.”
“Caldwell.” Her voice changes. “Is everything all right?”
I pause, turning enough to see her face, composed, concerned.
“Everything’s fine. I just need to see my wife.”
I said wife, not Mable, not her, deliberately, wanting it to land and sink in. The role Cordelia keeps implying might not last.
Her expression doesn’t flicker. “Give her my best.”
I don’t respond. I’m already gone.
The drive home is too long. I can’t stop wondering where Mable will be so I can go straight to her. In the kitchen probably, or the library, or wherever she’s made herself comfortable without realizing she’s made a home.
When I finally pull through the gates, I’m out of the car before the driver can fully stop.