Page 88 of We Could Be So Good
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It’s cowardly, but he asks his father’s secretary to phone down to the newsroom and ask Nick to meet him in the morgue.
He’s already leaning against a tall filing cabinet when Nick walks in.
“What’s the matter?” Nick asks.
Andy leads Nick to a corner in the back of the room. “Why in hell didn’t you let me know you were leaving theChronicle?” he hisses. “My father just told me!”
Nick looks hurt, which is mighty rich. “I’m not sure what your father heard, but I’m not leaving theChronicle. I decided to turn down the offer.”
Andy waves this away. His heart is racing and facts feel highly unimportant. “I can’t believe you’d even think about leaving without telling me!” He’s panicking. He knows he is, feels the fear swirling around in his head and his gut, displacing anything like logic or goodwill. This is twice in one week that he’s made his dumb brain into Nick’s problem and he knows it isn’t right, but fear and anxiety are driving the car.
“I’mnotthinking about it. They made the offer, I’m turning it down, the end.”
That was future tense—Nick hasn’t turned down the offer yet. “When? When did they offer you a column?”
“They called two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks!” That was two weeks where Nick could have turned down the offer but didn’t, could have told Andy but didn’t.
“And I had lunch with Dave last week.”
“Lunch!”
“I told you, I’m turning it down.”
Mother of God, Andy’s eyes are burning. He’s going to cry in the goddamn morgue. “I don’t know what I’d do without you here. I can’t—I don’t want to.Nick.”
Nick’s hand twitches, like he wants to reach out and take Andy in his arms, but they both know he can’t. Secluded corner or no, that’s too much of a risk. Instead he takes Andy’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“When my father leaves. I—I won’t have anyone. I don’t. I can’t.” This is all panic. This is one hundred percent desperate, ugly, anxious clinginess and he should stop, but he can’t.
“Listen to me.” Nick’s voice is low. “Sweetheart, listen.”
But Andy doesn’t want to listen. “I don’t want you to leave me.”
“Baby, I’m not leaving you. I told you, I didn’t accept the offer.”
In some inaccessible part of his brain, Andy knows that Nick isbeing very patient. Andy ignores this part of his brain with all his being. “Well, you should have.”
Nick drops his hand and takes a step back. “Andy, what the fuck.”
“My father said it was a good offer. A column and much more money. You’d have free rein to write about what you want.” He doesn’t add that maybe a column would make Nick take stories that didn’t put the cops’ hackles up. Maybe a column would keep Nick safe, even if Nick wouldn’t do that much for Andy.
“I’m going to need you to make up your mind here about what you want me to do because my head’s spinning.”
“You have to do what’s best for you. I want what’s best for you. But I don’t want you to leave me.”
Nick throws up his hands. “This is nuts.”
Andy can’t disagree with him there, but he also can’t come up with any way to make this conversation less nuts.
“Besides,” Nick goes on, “you already spend most of your time in meetings. It’s already not like it was a year ago.”
Andy cannot believe he isn’t crying. He’s almost impressed with himself. But he doesn’t know how to explain that this isn’t about him wanting to keep things the same; it’s about him not wanting to be left. He knows it’s unreasonable, but that doesn’t make it any better.
“And we both know,” Nick goes on, picking up speed, annoyance building in his tone, annoyance that Andy knows he richly deserves, “that when you’re the publisher, you aren’t going to be able to live in a rattrap apartment with one of your reporters. You just aren’t.”
