Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

The changes to “Ask Eleanor” were before her. New formatting requirements, a new author photo, a space for her Twitter account or social media page at the bottom of the column.

It was a mock-up created with one of her old columns and a public relations photo used for the third book, printed with the new font and byline of the revamped Herald awaiting future unveiling for the public.

A fake column, merely a suggestion of future ones, but Eleanor stared at it with disappointment. For what reason, she couldn’t fathom. After all, it was mostly the same as before. The same sort of advice would be given out in almost the same number of lines and paragraphs.

“You won’t be making these changes right away, of course,” said Bitterman. “But we want all the staff writers and columnists to get used to the idea early. By December, we’ll start moving towards the big January unveiling.”

“I see,” said Eleanor.

“You’ll have time to play around with the social media resources in advance,” said Bitterman. “We’ll get a Twitter account for each staff member, let them practice sending out some standard messages – ‘read the sports column 4A,’ ‘what a great headline today!’ until everyone gets used to it.”

He patted her on the shoulder. “Big day for the book tomorrow, right?”

The book? Oh, the book. Her book. “Yes,” she answered. “Of course. Thank you.”

Her book debut was tomorrow. Pre-sale copies were performing nicely, Nelson had informed her – she was already number fifteen on the nonfiction bestseller’s list and number five in self-help/reference. He had scheduled her appearance on Thinking Out Loud and a book signing at Barlett’s again in Vermont, among other things.

He told Eleanor these things himself, now that Lucy was no longer here to answer the phone. Eleanor made the notations in her calendar, which had been turned several pages away from the handwriting of her former assistant. Which she did not glimpse even now without feeling a sense of guilt.

She skimmed over the future version of her column once more, attempting to identify what it was that made her feel lackluster for its debut. Then gave up at the sight of Edward standing in the staff writer’s room, talking to one of the writers, as was visible through her office windows.

She rose from her seat and stepped outside the office doors. He caught sight of her and broke free from his conversation, coming towards her with a smile.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello.”

One of the staff members was staring at them. Jeanine, she realized, whose face was developing a gradual expression of recognition.

“Why are you here?” Eleanor asked. “I hope you didn’t come to see my office.” The joke of this question died away with the memory that he might have seen it, perhaps briefly, when Lucy was still working here.

“No, actually,” he said. “I’m free. And I wondered if you were, too.”

“I am,” she answered.

“For lunch, I mean,” he said. With a teasing grin.

“Lunch,” she said. “Yes, that sounds nice.” They were standing closer now; several more staffers had taken notice of them, she imagined. “Anyplace in particular?”

“I thought we’d start walking and see what we find,” he answered.

“I’ll get my bag,” she said. And went back to her office, retrieving it from the desk without giving a second glance to her column’s imaginary proof.

Edward was still standing in the same spot as before, although now he had been joined by someone else. Brandon, holding a cardboard box which was evidently piled with things from his office. Clearing out, Eleanor realized, to leave the paper for good.

He glanced towards her as she approached. His smile of greeting changed slightly in response to what he saw in Edward’s face. The look of eagerness, of shy affection, so easily sliding into place as Edward watched her.

“You’re leaving, Brandon?” She looked at the contents of his box, which, in addition to his hat, held his desk nameplate and a large, electric pencil sharpener.

“Going home early,” he said. “It’s my last day on staff.”

“That’s right,” said Eleanor, faintly. “I remember. I didn’t realize you were leaving so early.”

“Well, it was nice seeing you again,” Edward said to Brandon. He looked at Eleanor. “I’ll go on down and check my messages, if that’s all right?” He held up his cell phone.

“Yes, that’s fine,” she answered. As he turned away, she glanced at Brandon. He didn’t say anything as he stood there, watching Edward disappear into the elevator.

He looked at her. “Edward,” he said, flatly.

“Yes,” she answered. Attempting to say it lightly.

“He’s not here to see Lucy. Obviously.”

Eleanor did not have an answer prepared for this statement. In Brandon’s voice, she heard something unhappy. Something beneath its stiffness which was not quite identifiable.

“Leaving early, Brandon?” Marguerite asked, in passing.

“I turned in my final column,” he answered. “Not much reason to stay, is there?”

“There’s a farewell party for the retiring writers in the staff break room – cake and punch,” she suggested.

“No thanks.”

There was something in his tone which made Eleanor decide not to linger any longer. She crossed to the elevator and pushed the button, waiting for the doors to open. As she stepped inside, Brandon entered also, balancing his box in his arms.

She pressed the button for the lobby. In the elevator, silence was between them as it begin descending to the main floor. Eleanor glanced at Brandon and saw him staring straight ahead into the hazy reflection of the doors.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s none of my business,” he answered.

She glanced towards the empty side of the elevator. “He’s not seeing her anymore, Brandon. I didn’t ... steal him away.” This part, she mentioned uncomfortably.

“I didn’t accuse you of that.” Brandon’s tone was even.

“Then what’s wrong?” she asked. “Is it Edward? Is that what you disapprove of? Because you obviously disapprove of something in this relationship.”

“I just never thought of you doing something this ... this senseless,” he answered. There was frustration in his voice, building as he spoke.

“Senseless?” she repeated.

“You know what I mean. Falling for someone who’s barely got a foot out of one relationship –”

“It hasn’t been as sudden as you make it seem,” she answered. “This is not a rebound, Brandon.”

“Did he leave her because of you?” Brandon asked.

“No,” Eleanor answered, indignantly. “Not exactly.” It was true that he hadn’t, although it was possible that without her presence, Edward might have continued trudging along in Lucy’s shadow. Easily persuaded, as he put it. Steered by a stronger will than his own.

“Then what is it?” Brandon asked. “Honestly, Eleanor, what would you say to someone who was in your place? This isn’t the advice you’d give them, is it?”

“This is not an advice column,” she snapped. “This is my life, Brandon. My personal, private life, in which I am entitled to be happy as I see fit.”

“Exactly.” He looked at her, his gaze meeting hers with something which seemed hurt, embittered beneath the surface. She looked away from his eyes, finding it painful to meet them for long.

They both fell silent for a moment. He resumed staring ahead. “It’s none of my business what you do,” he repeated, stiffly “I’m only disappointed. I thought I knew you better. I thought you deserved better.”

What he meant by that, he didn’t bother to explain. The elevator doors opened to the lobby and Brandon exited, marching through the doors of the lobby without looking back, cramming the hat from the box on his head as he left.

She emerged behind him. Outside, on the sidewalk, she glanced after him, then ahead, where the figure of Edward could be seen across the street. He was waiting for her, his glance following the traffic until he caught sight of her and waved.

He was standing in the bright sunlight, her eyes blinking momentarily against its blinding brightness against the white wall and sidewalk. Edward’s figure dazzling, his features obscured from her sight as if he himself was sending forth this radiance.

She blinked again, feeling the sting of tears from the brightness. Glancing towards the car driving past, the sidewalk now absent of Brandon’s marching figure. Then she looked again to where Edward stood waiting.

The light had changed, softened by clouds overhead, although the pain she felt from that moment still lingered. The moment to cross was at hand if she wanted it. She stepped towards the man waiting on the other side.