She was shocked to see Roman was present. There was an empty chair beside him, and Iris surrendered to it. She glanced sidelong at him, but Roman’s eyes were dead set on something before them. His hands were on his thighs, his posture rigid.
For once, she wished he would look at her, because the longer she sat beside him, the more his tension coaxed her own, until she was cracking her knuckles and bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“All right,” Zeb said, easing into his chair with a slight groan. “I’m sure you’re aware why I’ve called the two of you in today. You’re both bright, talented writers. And I’ve given you each an equal opportunity to prove yourselves worthy of columnist. I’m pleased to say I’ve made my decision.”
He paused, and Iris tore her eyes from Roman to look at Zeb. He set down the morning’s newspaper at the edge of his desk. It was folded in such a way to reveal the column. Roman’s article. The one she had helped him write about missing soldiers. So Iris wasn’t surprised by the words that came next. In fact, she felt nothing as Zeb announced, “Kitt, this is the best article you’ve ever written. The position is yours. You’re reliable, industrious, and turn good pieces in on time. You’ll officially start first thing tomorrow.”
Roman didn’t move. He didn’t even seem to be breathing, and Iris’s gaze flickered back to him as she wondered what thoughts were haunting his mind to make him so unresponsive. Wasn’t this what he wanted?
Now Zeb was frowning, annoyed by Roman’s lack of enthusiasm. “Did you hear me, Kitt?”
“Sir, would you consider giving us both more time before you made the decision?” Roman asked. “Give us each another chance to write an essay.”
Zeb gaped at him. “More time? In what world would I do that?”
Iris’s heart beat swift and hard within her chest. When Roman finally looked at her, time seemed to stall. His eyes were keen, as if he could see everything that dwelled in her—the light and the shadows. Her threads of ambition and desire and joy and grief. Never had a man looked at her in that way.
A shiver traced her bones.
“I’ve had an unfair advantage, sir,” Roman said, directing his attention back to Zeb. “Winnow’s mother passed away a few days ago. She’s grieving, and she needs more time.”
The room fell painfully silent.
Iris drew a tremulous breath. Her pulse was in her ears. And Zeb was saying something, but his voice was nothing more than a pesky drone as Iris met Roman’s stare.
“How do you know that?” she whispered.
“I read your mother’s obituary,” he replied.
“But no one reads obituaries.”
Roman was quiet but his face flushed, and she had the frightening inkling that while she made it a point to never read anything of his, he might be reading everything she touched. Including the dry classifieds and tragic obituaries. Perhaps he did it to see if she’d left a typo behind, to taunt her with after it went to print. Perhaps he did it because she was his competition and he wanted to know who, exactly, he was up against. She honestly couldn’t think of a good enough reason, and she looked away from him.
“Winnow?” Zeb was barking. “Winnow, is this true?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why didn’t you say something yesterday?”
Because I didn’t want to cry in front of you. Because I don’t want your pity. Because I’m holding myself together by a thread.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Well,” Zeb said curtly. “I can’t help you if I don’t know, can I?” He heaved a sigh and rubbed his brow. His voice softened, as if he realized how callous he was sounding. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Winnow. It’s unfortunate. But I’m afraid my mind is made up. Kitt won the column, but if you need to take a few days off for bereavement … that would be fine.”
Iris thought about taking time off. Which would mean she would be home, alone in that sad flat with the wine bottles and the melted candles and the torn wallpaper. She would be waiting for her mother to return, and she never would. And that was when it struck her. Iris didn’t want time off, but neither did she want to be at the Gazette. The career she had dreamt of suddenly paled in comparison to other things in her life.
Her only family was in the west now, where the war raged.
She wanted to find her brother.
“No, sir. I’m turning in my resignation,” she said, rising.
Roman shifted beside her. “What? No, Mr. Autry, I—”
Zeb ignored his newly appointed columnist, and sputtered, “Your resignation? You want to quit on me, Winnow? Just like that?”
She hated the way he made it sound. Like she was giving up. But now that she had voiced the words, a weight slipped off her shoulders.
She was going to find Forest.
“Yes, sir. It’s time for me to move on,” she said and pivoted to Roman, extending her hand to him. “Congratulations, Kitt.”
He merely stared up at her, his blue eyes smoldering like flames.
She was awkwardly retracting her hand when his finally rose to meet it, and his grip was firm and warm. It sent a shock up her forearm, as if the two of them had created static, and she was relieved when he finally let her go.
“If you’re quitting, then go ahead and leave, Winnow,” Zeb said with a flick of his stubby fingers. “I don’t need you anymore. But if you walk out that door, don’t expect to ever be hired again.”
“Listen, Mr. Autry.” Roman’s voice was brisk. “I don’t think—”
Iris didn’t hear the rest of what he said. She quit the office, found a wooden crate in the kitchen, and went to her desk to pack up her things.
She didn’t have much. A small potted plant, a few of her favorite pencils and pens, a small figurine of a running horse, some grammar books, a tattered dictionary.
“Winnow.” Sarah approached her with a worried expression. “You’re not…”
“I’m resigning, Prindle.”
“But why? Where will you go?”
“I’m not sure yet. But it’s time for me to leave.”
Sarah sagged, glasses flashing on her nose. “I’ll miss you.”
Iris found one last smile to give her. “I’ll miss you too. Perhaps one day I’ll find you at a museum?”
Sarah blushed but glanced down at her feet, as if that dream of hers was still too distant to grasp.
One by one, the desks around Iris fell quiet and still. One by one, she drew every eye in the room, until the Oath Gazette came to a halt.
Zeb was the one to break the silence. He walked to her with a cigarette clamped in his yellow teeth, a frown on his face, and a wad of bills in his hand.
“Your last paycheck,” he said.
“Thank you.” She accepted the money and tucked it into her inner coat pocket. She gathered up her crate, turned off her lamp, gently touched the keys of her typewriter one last time, and began to walk down the aisle.
Roman wasn’t at his desk. Iris didn’t know where he was until she glanced up at the glass doors and saw him standing before them like a barricade, his arms crossed over his chest.
“How kind of you to get the door for me on my way out,” she said when she reached him. She was striving for a teasing tone, but her voice betrayed her and came out as a warble.
“I don’t think you should go like this, Winnow,” he whispered.
“No, Kitt? How, then, should I go?”