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𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

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NEW YORK CITY, USA. FOURTEEN DAYS BCE

"Would you like to hear my thoughts?"

Cora inhaled sharply. Across from her, leaning against a green velvet couch, sat Willa. Her skin was glowing in only the way a pre-wedding pamper could allow, corn silk blonde hair lofty with volume. Willa gazed over the rim of her mug as she took a long sip of a skinny cappuccino, her eyes keenly trained on Cora.

There was no ducking from the question. Willa was shooting down the barrel.

In her lap, Cora fidgeted. Naively she had hoped that the subject of her writing would not grace the conversation so quickly, but the second she had set eyes on Willa, she could see the other woman's mind ticking. Cora's stomach was quick to turn, queasy as they settled into the seating of the café. Had she inadvertently swallowed a hive of bees? Or was this simply what vulnerability felt like?

She laughed a little too hard. Willa lowered her mug, a thin layer of foam coating her top lip. She licked it away with her tongue, tilting her head forward.

"Oh come on." Willa said with a sly grin. "Don't be coy."

"I'm ... Am I being coy?" Cora muttered. She fanned her neck with the material of her collar.

"A little." Willa nodded. "You shouldn't be."

"Just ..." Cora trailed off, her eyes drifting to the suitcase standing stationary beside her.

Cora had jumped fresh off the plane, still smelling of circulated air and airline food. The decision to leave Italy had been so impulsive that she'd neglected to book a hotel room, evidenced by the presence of her suitcase. Her return had not been the result of carefully planning, but neither had the impetus. No, Cora had arrived at her new path the same way she'd finished her writing - with a decisive full stop.

"Just tell me honestly," Cora said, steeling herself. "Is it terrible?"

Willa shook her head. Eyes wide, she leaned forward, arms folding on the tabletop and inching her cup's saucer forward.

"Oh no. No I thought it was quite brilliant."

Cora laughed again, this time quietly, like a snicker. For some reason, Willa's answer was worse than if she were to have spat in Cora's face. Cora did not know if she could believe Willa. The idea that someone might think she had produced something of worth was bizarre.

"Is that a joke?" Cora asked. Willa snorted.

"Of course not. No. I promise, as a fellow writer, I wouldn't do that to you. I couldn't put it down. I haven't read something so quickly in a while. I even read it again, aloud, to Con. I hope that was alright."

Cora was going to throw up.

"Oh yeah. Yeah yeah yeah that's like ... Super cool. Uh huh." Cora forced a grin to her lips. It was wide and toothy, a dentist chair smile. "Um, anyone else you might've shared it with?"

Her mind would not go there until it had to, but she still felt compelled to ask the question. Willa shook her head.

"Oh no, of course not. I swore Con to secrecy too. I don't want all this getting out before it has to," Willa said.

"Before it has to?" Cora asked.

"Oh yeah. Before you publish it," she replied. "The bidding war's gonna be crazy."

"Oh ... Oh I didn't think ... Oh I don't think I'll publish it."

She had considered the idea of her writing seeing the light of day, but had quickly canned the idea. She didn't doubt she could find interest, it was the headlines that dissuaded her. Ex-Socialite Pens Lurid Memoir on Remorse, Romance and Roys. Cora was a realist when she needed to be. She knew how these things spun on. This had been purely personal, or at least, it had been until she had felt the itch of validation sought.

Willa's face pinched with disappointment and she eased back into her seat. Cora felt a pang of guilt. She hadn't thought that she would be letting Willa down. Frankly, her expectations had been low even when the other woman had insisted they meet as soon as Cora returned. After everything, it had been Willa's email that had made her book the ticket.

"That's a real shame." Willa said with a soft pout.

"I ... Is it?"

"Yeah, it is." Willa's voice rung with melancholy. There was something there, left unsaid.

"Why is that?" Cora pressed. There was a pause, Willa's eyes averting for the first time since they had sat down. A warm pink flush settled on the high points of her cheekbones.

"Well ..." Willa began. She paused to gather her thoughts. "Ok, just, can I explain first? I don't want you to freak out."

Cora inhaled deeply, steeling herself. She nodded.

"Ok. Alright. Well, I couldn't put it down, obviously I said that before. I think that had to do with how you had written it. Simple but elegant. Like every line had purpose. I remember being surprised you'd managed that. 'Wow, I didn't know she was capable of all this thought'." Willa giggled awkwardly. "I mean the events themselves are compelling, but just the fact you'd gotten it all down like that took me off-guard. I closed my laptop, turned to Connor and raved about it for like fifteen minutes straight."

Willa paused to drink. With her hands perched at the edge of the table, Cora listened in rapture. Wow, she really had read it.

"Obviously, I mean you know Con, he got curious so I went back to the start and read it out to him. We were up late, but he was just as engrossed as I was. The second time was even better. I picked up on things, got caught in areas I hadn't before. I was really there with you, down in the muck."

Cora had turned the shade of a beetroot. Thankfully Willa's eyes were still downcast. It was not lost on Cora that this was the most she'd heard the other woman speak. Perhaps that was why she did not balk, aware they were both somewhat exposed.

"I asked Con what he thought and he looked at me with this ... I don't know. He just didn't look as blown away as I had felt the first time. And he asked me something that I think I'd started to ask myself. He said 'why were you so surprised?'. I didn't know how to answer that."

"I mean, I think it was fine. Being surprised." Cora shrugged, biting her lip. "Nothing wrong with that."

Willa frowned, shaking her head. "No, but he was right. I had really underestimated you. I guess ... You know being around them kind of rubs off, doesn't it? It's like, you know microfibre cloths? How if you leave them around, they suck all the dust from the atmosphere? We get their dust. I mean it with love, but y'know, also truth."

"It's not easy." Cora replied slowly. She knew what Willa was talking about, so much of her life had been compromised of that dust. The particles of something greater, sticking to her like a sheer coat.

"It's not. That's why it resonated. But I don't think you have to be intimately acquainted with them to know that feeling. There's so much more. Love, loss, what you wore. I mean, there's something so Ephron about it too. Everything being copy."

Willa had become enthusiastic again, hunger beaming in her eyes. There it was again, like a signal bright red. What was left silent. This time Cora was bit.

"You see something for yourself here, don't you?" She asked. Her question was pointed but tone softened the words. This was not an accusation. Willa brushed a hand through the length of her hair and nodded.

"I've been searching for an idea for my next play. Something different. Something that grips." Willa said. "I really want to do ... This. Your memoir. On the stage."

Cora fell silent. Now it was her turn to lean back, brow folded in contemplation. On the stage. If publishing had been furthest from her mind, adaptation had been even further. She mulled over the idea.

"I know it's a lot. It sounds like this was something you meant to keep private, and I respect that. But I really believe in this as a project. You'll have full input. You can come to auditions. We can work on the script together. Whatever credit you want. Writer, co-director, producer. I don't care, I really do-"

"Yes." Cora said before she could reconsider. It simply felt right. "I would love that."

"Oh thank God." Willa laughed, a beam stretching across her lips. "Because I already spoke to my agent. We're scouting for a Cora. A Roman too."

Cora's chest tightened. Despite the sensation, she allowed herself to smile. Quickly she found herself considering a caveat.

"The only thing ..." she began.

"Anything," Willa replied. "Name it."

"This can't come up. Not before I'm ready for it to. I need to be the one who tells them what it's about." The one who tells him what it's about, she thought.

"Anything," Willa repeated. "This'll be top secret. Don't worry. I'll have Connor on lockdown. Just ... He might've already mentioned the memoir to a couple people. Like Tom. He mentioned it to Tom."

"That's ... That's ok." Cora replied quickly. She closed her eyes, the café disappearing from her vision. Against inky black, she counted down to the beat of her heartbeat. The world seemed to spin beneath her. When it had stilled, she opened them again. "As far as anyone's concerned, I wrote a silly little book on holiday. That's all."

"Right." Willa nodded. "Until the time's right."

"Until the time's right." Cora repeated back, savouring the words in her mouth - thankful that for once her in life, this felt like a given.

"What's the title, by the way?" Willa asked as she relaxed with the ebb of tension.

"I hadn't thought of one." She admitted. She'd played with some ideas, but had never arrived at anything. At current, it was simply titled 'Memoir' in the header. "Did you have ideas?"

"I think you should be the one to name it."

"Maybe you're right." Cora bit her lip. In the clean stagnancy of the café, she felt a chill, like somewhere unseen a door had opened. A draft let in. The breeze beckoned. "I'll think about it."

≪ °❈° ≫

TEN DAYS BCE.

Cora's footsteps echoed against polished concrete, the sound bouncing in the empty room.

She was standing on the upper level terrace of a penthouse on Broadway, where floor to ceiling glass doors opened onto a square outdoor terrace. A path of uniform squares cut through newly laid grass, cropped meticulously short, leading to a rectangular firepit. On either side of the brick walls of the terrace, boxed planters housed short manicured trees.

It was a scene of perfect symmetry set against the backdrop of a clear blue sky.

The architect's vision continued throughout the rest of the floors, of which Cora had traversed many times over. Now she rested on the vision, clutching lightly at her chin. Her ears perked at the sound of Violet's heels descending the stair case behind her. She turned, watching her friend traverse the length of the room. She came to rest beside her at the double doors.

"Do you like it?" Violet asked with wan hope. Cora hesitated.

Over the last week, Violet had showed Cora around an ever-growing number of listings. Her husband's portfolio of investment properties was lengthy and both had initially agreed there was sure to be one to Cora's liking, but this optimism had dwindled.

Cora was proving to be a picky client, to the surprise of even herself.

After months exiled to nature, Cora yearned to keep it close. She had missed the concrete and grit of New York, it was embedded in her DNA, but Reagan's cottage had left an impression not easily erased. No more did she desire tasteful yet faceless opulence. Cora wanted a place to call home. The moment she had stepped into the cold modernity of the penthouse, she had known in her heart this was not the one.

"It's lovely but ..." She trailed off, biting her lip.

"But it's just not it, is it?"

Cora shook her head. With a pout, Violet loosed a dramatic sigh. She leaned against the white beam of the doorway, slumping her shoulders. From the corner of her eye, Cora saw Violet cock an eyebrow as she toyed with her thoughts.

Things had not been so graceful between them.

Being photographed with Mencken at the Republican convention had been a slight not easily forgotten. It was a beacon of the undercurrent that had always run between them: the ease of ignorance inextricable not just to who Cora was but her place in the world.

It was more than that. Cora was, and had always been, an imperfect friend.

It was something she had come to terms with over the past few days but the knowledge had percolated in her time abroad. Cora's dramas had always eclipsed her curiosity for the lives of others, and Violet had been a victim of that. She had said as much upon their first meeting, on the doorstep of a brownstone.

"You've been pretty shit to me." Violet had not looked up from her phone as Cora came to stand before her.

"I know." Cora replied, head hung.

"You have a lot to make up for."

"I know." She repeated, blushing. "I've been self-centred."

"You have." Violet nodded, finally looking up. "Sometimes it sucks loving you."

"You don't know the half of it."

"See?" Her look was pointed. Cora sighed heavily. She was really starting to truly understand Violet's point.

"I'll do better." Cora promised. Violet appeared deadpan to Cora's conviction. Locking her phone, she stashed it in her pocket.

"I'll be the judge of that." Her expression relaxed. "You can start by giving Richard some commission. I need Vivienne Westwood's new collection like yesterday. Time to pay up that blood money."

Over the following days, Violet showed Cora over much of Manhattan. A Soho converted warehouse flooded in natural light, a mansion on East 35th straight out of the Gilded Age, a Central Park penthouse that gave Cora vertigo when she'd pressed her forehead to stare directly at the ground below, to name a few.

Cora had liked aspects of all but there had been something missing. At first she had explained these problems away with superficial comments about wallpaper or the design of bars and bathrooms, but Violet called her out. These were things that Cora could easily change. She had pushed for Cora to admit out loud that she was searching for something specific.

The problem was that Cora was searching for a place she knew intrinsically yet could not possibly describe.

Now Violet straightened up, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms. Beneath sunlight unfettered by shade, her deep skin reflected a warm glow. The day before they had paused their search for lunch at the Regis and afternoon shopping. Violet had gotten her hands on a bright red corset top, which she wore now. Cora had finally made a trip to the Apple store.

"I'm think I'm actually gonna run out of places soon." Violet muttered, shaking her head.

"Sorry." Cora replied. "I really wish I liked this one. It's ... I dunno."

"No, I knew it wouldn't be here." She screwed up her nose as she pulled out her phone. Cora could see she was scrolling through listings. "Everything else dips under budget ... Except this one place."

"Where is it?"

"West 29th. Between Chelsea and the Garment District." Violet's eyes crept upwards. "I don't know if it'd be your thing. Besides, Richard's had a hard time with it. It has a really unique ... I dunno if I can explain it actually. You have to see it to understand."

Cora's eyebrows raised. Unique had to be better than how they had been doing so far. If Violet didn't think it was her kind of thing, perhaps that was exactly what she should be exploring.

"I'd like to see it." Cora said decisively.

"Alright. Suit yourself, I guess." Violet shrugged.

The moment they stepped out of the cab, Violet's words rang true. The outer façade of the townhouse was flat, plain brick and sandwiched between a small office building and a security firm. It stretched up three sets of brown tinted windows edged in hardwood. Below the short stairs leading to the front door was a black set of double doors, large enough to allow for a modest sized car.

It had clearly served a different purpose in another lifetime, perhaps as a design house or a studio. Violet came to a rest beside Cora, watching her carefully as Cora took in the sight.

"If you don't like it, we shouldn't even go inside." She began. Cora shook her head.

"No, I'd like to see it if that's alright."

Violet unlocked the door and stepped inside, waiting for Cora to follow after her. With a hopeful breath, Cora joined her.

The front door opened to a cosy entryway and a set of stairs to her right. Violet flicked on a nearby light switch.

With a quiet gasp, Cora looked upwards to find a walkway, cutting across her vision of the vast height of the ceiling. The look of quiet wonder was enough for Violet to remain mum, standing aside as Cora found herself drawn upwards by cavernous space above. External brick translated internally, glazed for depth, Cora skimming the rough texture. She climbed two flights, her eyes drinking a hint of the second floor without pause.

She needed an eagle eye view that only the space above could allow.

Warmth sprawled around her as she gained vantage. Rich wood accented with charcoal tile floors, the glow of the sun streaming through a skylight high above the open spread of the atrium. Nearby a sprawling kitchen, mature in its dark benches and a bronze exhaust hood, sat vacant yet inviting. Adjacent to it, the dining room sat beyond glass panelled French doors. Further still, Cora glimpsed a green so verdant it summoned the cottage's garden to her mind, the sigh of nature swirling her nostrils.

Already Cora swept the ghost of owners past from her mind. She was already plotting which pieces of her furniture would fit and which she would sell. Ideas plagued her as never before. Rugs of bold geometry, artwork echoing the moodiness of Emily Carr's landscapes. And plants, so many plants, to invite the green inside.

She was getting ahead of herself. It was a wonderful feeling.

Cora rounded to her left, hand trailing the cool metal of the bannister as she traversed the walkway which towered above the lower levels. With a glance down, she waved at Violet, who waved back. She was on her phone. Cora had a sneaking suspicion she was already texting Richard. Her pace quickened as she spied a set of dark walnut doors. Her hand fell to the handle and she pushed the door open.

She found an office space inside. Furniture from the previous owner had been left behind, a wide antique writer's desk with a bottle green banker's lamp. A pleasant aroma hung in the air, the sense of a space well used. Front windows revealed the street outside and glazed her surroundings in soft amber light. In the corner of the office sat a comfortable nook for reading, upholstered in velvety burgundy material. Beside it, vertical book cases stretched to the ceiling, a ladder-like staircase cut between.

Cora steadied herself on the railing, ducking her head and emerging above.

She found bookcases wrapping the walls of the small room, dim in the absence of light. Cora found a switch dangling from the roof and pulled it. The warm grain of the book cases shone upon illumination, hungry with the absence of spines. The only space of left free was another built-in bench, this one covered in forest green upholstery and long enough to recline lengthways.

Cora sprawled against it. This was where Violet found her some fifteen minutes later.

"You like it then." Violet said. Cora nodded. Her eyes were closed, she had almost drifted off. It already felt like she had lived her entire life here.

"Tell Richard he can have all of my money."

"I won't. He'll fleece you." Violet replied with a snort, taking a seat beside Cora's legs at the end of the bench.

"Ok." Cora laughed. "But tell him I'll buy it."

"You haven't even seen the second floor properly." Violet muttered. "That's where the problem is."

"There is no problem, Vi. I want to live here. I'm so sure of it." She confessed, a quiver in her voice. The townhouse had awoken a yearning she hadn't known she possessed. After all of her hesitation, certainty sat inside of her like a hot coal, feverishly smouldering.

"Ok, ok. I'll go outside and call him, but seriously you need to see the second floor first. Specifically the very back of it. Then meet me outside."

Cora nodded, manoeuvring herself upwards. "Yes, of course. I will right now. But I promise, my answer won't change."

And Cora was right. She met Violet outside five minutes later, beaming so wide that her cheeks ached. Violet smirked in return. She had already drafted a text to Richard. Now the rest was lawyers and paperwork.

"Finally have a permanent place to stay, huh?" Violet smirked, arching an eyebrow. "Somewhere that won't get you in trouble."

"I can't get in trouble if no one knows." Cora countered. Violet wagged a finger.

"What happened the last time you thought that?" Cora's face fell at the comment but Violet waved a hand. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. Just don't bank on it staying that way, you know how this shit goes."

"I do." Cora was perfectly aware that she was nursing a timebomb that could only be defused by ticking items off a list. Return to New York? Check. Find a place? Check. Arrange the movers? She could do that tonight, but what lay next?

The answer was simple, yet reality made Everest out of a mole hill. She needed access to her mother's old things.

She needed to speak to her step-father.

≪ °❈° ≫

SEVEN DAYS BCE.

Frank gripped the steering wheel between his gloved hands, guiding the car up the long driveway of Peninsula Manor.

Cora sat beside him in the passenger seat, fiddling with the blue denim of her jeans. A thick headband kept her hair secure against the pull of wind against the vintage convertible, slender sunglasses shielding her from the glare. Against the force of nature, the radio played grainy Johnny Cash.

Frank looked better than when she had last seen him.

The colour had mostly returned to his face, gone were the sallow shadows beneath his eyes and the discolouration rimming his nose. What little of his hair was left had gone stark white during the coma. He had diffused the effect of it with a taupe newsboy cap. The lines on his face remained familiar, deep as valleys. He had always held stress there, even at rest.

Frank turned his attention from the road briefly to meet her gaze, smiling wryly.

She was thankful he did not press her to speak before she was ready to. It had taken her days to prepare for this meeting. Much of it had been spent looking in the mirror and practicing the right smile she would use to greet him. Not too wide but enough to pierce a scowl. Yet when she had lain eyes on him, it had disarmed her how naturally it had found her.

Soft and timid and shy.

It had not taken much to convince Frank to come with her to the manor. It was the very same one that he and Reagan had married on the grounds of, a decades held family heirloom. From their short conversation over the phone, it was obvious that Frank had not been back to the manor for as long as Cora had. Surprising, given the amount of fuss both had made over it during the deliberation of the will.

"I think that's what our final argument was about." Cora admitted to Matsson. "The manor."

After she had finished the call with Frank, she turned to him. Cora watched over FaceTime as he lounged against his slate grey couch, phone propped on his chest. In the background, low chatter bounced off the hard floors off the villa. Words in Swedish, though none of the ones she'd attempted to learn on Duolingo.

"Sounds like you didn't even want it." Matsson replied. Her lips folded into a pout.

"Well no, I didn't. It was the principle though, Reagan leaving it to Frank. It was a family thing. Why should he have had it?"

"But you didn't want it." He countered.

"I grew up there." Cora muttered, realising she was not helping her case. She sighed, rolling onto her stomach. The white sheets of her bed crumpled as she pressed her cheek against them. She balanced her phone on its side. "It was like she was slighting me from beyond the grave."

"She probably was. Your mom sounds like a bitch." Matsson said with a dismissive snort.

"I'll let her know." Cora rolled her eyes. She didn't like where the conversation was headed. "I guess I'm glad he's coming with me though. I couldn't do it alone."

"You're going ghost hunting." Matsson commented as he looked off-camera. He smirked at something beyond her current visibility.

"Not funny, Lukas." She replied. She tried to lighten her tone with a smile but it sat uneasily on her lips.

"No. Just prompting the real reason for the day trip." She was surprised by his interest. He seemed, frankly, quite bored by the conversation but it was always hard to tell with him.

Her voice faltered, letting out the syllable of a word, uttering only its starting fragment. How could she answer him? Cora had not told him yet that she had found a new place, mostly because he was displeased at her insistence on keeping her home in New York. His messages had grown more frustrated, framing the desire as silly. She was European now, he insisted, why bother with the States more than she had to?

"Just tying loose ends. A couple things I need to grab before ..." She trailed off, shrugging. "Before it's sold, I guess. It can't sit there forever. I don't think either of us want to deal with it."

"Mm, good. Sell it. Sell it all." He replied. "Talk to him about Logan. I want to know where their heads are at. Crack his skull."

She winced at the analogy. "Will do."

"Good girl." He paused. "Someone told me they're in California now."

Matsson's attention was laser focused on her. He was trying to tell if she had known. Cora remained composed, nonchalant even in the slight raise of her eyebrows. She watched herself with eagle eyes. She would not belie the truth.

"Is that so?"

"It is." Matsson nodded. "You look very pretty tonight. I miss you."

"I miss you too." She replied softly, thankful for the topic change. She meant it too, she told herself. She missed him a lot. Too much, even.

"Mm." The lids of his eyes had descended low. She could see the pale fan of his lashes. "Send me photos before you go to bed."

"Uh huh." Cora replied, biting the inside of her cheek. "Got it."

The dirt driveway came to an end as a circle at the front of the house.

Frank parked directly outside the front entrance. She had neglected to take in the manor in the distance, averting her eyes to the green surrounds. As she left the car, her eyes climbed the grey stone, as imposing as the walls of a castle and just as ornate. Against the backdrop of a cerulean sky dotted with cotton-ball clouds dragged slow on a breeze, Cora's composure wavered. Where the cottage had felt like the inner chambers of Reagan's mind, the manor mirrored what Cora had known of her mother best - her rigid and icy countenance.

All at once, she became aware of her step-father's presence.

He swayed softly on unsteady footing, his gait still weak from so many months of a hospital bed. Physical therapy had repaired much of the damage, but his aged bones had taken to weakness like a salve. With keys in hand, he walked with a slight but noticeable limp to the front door, its veneer slick with polish and equipped with an ancient brass knocker. Slowly he unlocked the door. Cora stepped forward to help him push it open.

Frank mumbled his thanks under his breath. With it open, they stood side by side on the threshold, looking into the abyss with as much trepidation as two explorers at the mouth of a cave. Cora took a deep breath, tasting memory on each of her senses. His hand brushed against the top of her arm.

"We don't have to go in." He assured her in a low croak.

"No." Cora replied. "I've not come this far to turn back now."

As she paced the long corridors, moving methodically from room to room, Cora felt as though she were chasing ghosts.

It was an easy image to conjure when the furniture of the manor sat motionless in its obsolesces, covered in white cloth sheets and leaving only formless impressions. She did not need to uncover them to know what lay beneath. Cora traced the memories of her childhood, feeling them ripple beneath her touch. Here was the kitchen, where the cook had kept her company during stormy nights, there was her childhood bedroom, she could still hear one of her many nannies reading books, spines creaking with the effort of plying open a hero's plight.

Like the lingering fragments of a dream after waking, particles hung in the air around her, catching the light. In the colder rooms, she found her mother, her voice still whip-sharp in Cora's ear. More than once, Cora stopped to catch her breath. Her mother's bedroom conjured this the most. The only time Cora had deigned to enter was when she had met Reagan's frustration, of which felt endless.

She arrived at her mother's office with a halt. Here the ink of Cora's internal map dried. Quiet as a mouse, she paced into the den. Bay windows dressed in dark curtains, a seat installed below. A writing desk piled with journals left untouched. Notes furiously scribbled, underlined then crossed away. Cora chose not to intrude. She drifted towards the book cases.

Her fingers skimmed the titles. Rebecca by Daphne de Maurier, Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, Brideshead Revisited. She caught on a copy of Age of Innocence, pulling the book from the shelf. Cora had watched the Scorsese adaptation in high school, barely paying it mind. Now she balanced it in her hands, pulling apart the pages like parting the skin of an orange, inhaling the weathered yellow pages.

Cora found Frank in the drawing room, sitting at the piano. She faltered in her steps. He had pulled its sheet free. Slowly he ran his fingers against the notes. He pressed down, an untuned E ringing from the instrument, like a lone gasp from a dying animal.

He seemed startled when she came to stand beside the piano. His eyes had misted with the past.

"I miss her." Frank admitted. Her heart tugged as she realised she did too. Slowly Frank turned to her, his expression plain. "She did wrong by you, Delia. I always felt helpless to step in, told myself that the line was sheer. Bendy. It's taken me a long time to realise that it wasn't."

Cora nodded. There was no response that felt more appropriate. She felt an instinctual need to defend her mother at her own expense, the inclination to offer herself as a shield to the blow. Cora suffocated it. She could hold space for both - the right, the wrong and everything in between.

"Who was she?"

Frank's composure faltered. He could not hide the tug of sadness that descended upon him. Cora could almost laugh at how pathetic she sounded. A daughter who did not know her own mother.

"In some ways, an honourable woman. Forthright, outspoken. Gregarious at parties. She rode the invisible current of the people around her, and adjusted herself accordingly. It was very hard not to fall under that spell." He admitted slowly. "And she was the kind of person whose focus felt like a spotlight. You'd be hard pressed to turn down her attention. All eyes could be on her but if she turned to you, she could make you feel like the only one in the room. That kind of charm is mesmerising. I hope you don't blame me for being a sucker."

What stuck to her skin was the idea of Reagan as warm. It went directly unsaid, but from the tone of his voice and the lines of his speech, she saw it clearly. Reagan, willowy with hair in ringlets, draped in some divine shift of pearlescent silk, weaving through a grand event of her making with ease. Imagined laughter tinkled in Cora's ears. She bit her lip. Why could she have never heard her mother laugh?

Frank continued.

"But it was like performing surgery, peeling back the layers. She hid everything, wrestled like a dog if you pushed her too hard. Things slipped through the cracks and you just had to have enough luck to catch them."

"Like what?" Cora pressed. She wanted to know what her juvenile fingers had missed. With a furrow of his brow, Frank closed his eyes.

"Well, she had endured a lot as a child. I think it made her confused about whether she wanted to be a mother in the first place. When she married William, it was loveless, orchestrated by her mother. William's family had many expectations. Especially after the accident at his father's company, for which she was blamed, Reagan's duty became to bare children."

It was eerie how closely Cora had circled the same drain as her mother. She found herself clutching the book she had picked up close to her chest, white icing the peaks of her knuckles. She urged Frank forward with a nod. There was more to say.

"She lost ones before you." Frank winced, the skin of his eyelids tightening away wrinkles. "I hate to be the one to tell you, but she lost many. What hurt her the most was the shock at how much she loved each and every one in mourning. She felt like a failure, but then you happened. You stuck. You fought for your place in the world, kicked until the bitter end as she told it. They had to take you from her as a C-section. After all the labour of carrying you, all the hurt of the girls she lost, it shattered something in her to hold you. She didn't feel how she was meant to. All that love had dried up."

Cora swiped at her eyes. Her neck had grown aflame, grazed by his words. She felt miserable and wretched for herself, for the sisters she had never known, for her mother. She had been made terribly aware of the earth's rotation and the effect was dizzying nausea. She steadied herself with a hand against the piano.

Frank's palm enclosed her own, the bite of heat catching her off guard.

"The pain lingered in more ways than one. She ran a pharmacy out of her bathroom cabinet. I think shortly after we married was when the drinking took a real hold. I tried to help, but I think you know better than I that that's something only choice can shake. She never wanted to stop. The shame stacks up."

"Do you think she knew she was going to die?" Her voice was choked, she coughed in an attempt to clear her throat but to no avail. Desolation clung. "I read her journal. She left it in Sardinia. It sounded like she had accepted it."

"Didn't you know?" Frank said, searching her. His gaze had become unwavering. "The night you went to hospital. You must have known where you were heading."

He asked the question as if he already knew the answer, with a heaviness in his brow and his voice husky with sadness. It seemed he had wrestled with this for quite some time, more than she might have given him credit for.

Plainly she nodded. She wished she could summon shock at the dawn of this realisation, but ever since the accident in Tuscany, it had marinated in the back of her mind. That she while she had never sought death, she had indeed yielded to its growing possibility.

"That breaks my heart." Frank said.

"It breaks mine too."

But the rawness of her pain now felt like a lifetime ago. Cora had not picked the wound and now she ran it over in her mind, a silvery ridge of tougher skin raised above the rest. She would hold it forever, a reminder of what had left her spurned, but no longer would it weigh her. This was a new dawn, and she glistened clear as the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

Finally, at last, she could lay her mother to rest.

________

THREE DAYS BCE.

In the townhouse on West 29th, Cora placed down the plant next to the window in her office.

She took a step back, looking at the parlour palm in its terracotta pot, sprouting from the fresh earth on slender green stalks. The plant was still young, grown barely a foot from the soil, finger-like leaves splayed at all angles. Cora tilted her head, strands that hung loose from her low ponytail brushing to tickle her cheek. Softly, dimples formed. Her first possession in her new home, the perfect touch against the warm brown brick. She would have to call Caroline to thank her for the advice.

Behind her, there was a scrap of glass against stone countertop.

Cora's ears perked, turning to gaze across the atrium. From high in the ceiling, the night sky cast a navy blanket above the glass of the skylight. What lit the apartment were black pendant lamps hanging from the ceiling above, casting the walkway in a pleasant glow. She was still unsure of which she preferred - the beam of sunlight or the evening incandescence.

Slowly she paced from the office, measured steps echoing against the hard surface of the walkway.

She hooked her thumbs on the inside the pockets of her capris, fingers hanging loose to brush the tops of her thighs. Tucked into the belted waistband, a loose navy polo, top buttons loosened to allow for the ease of moving. She hadn't bothered with the items in storage just yet, but Cora had felt an urgency to put the belongings taken from Peninula Manor in place the moment the sale had finalised. Over the next few days, the movers would do the rest.

Sooner rather than later, she would be on her own. The concept inspired just as much fear as it did excitement. Sleeping alone in her own place was a hill she would have to climb.

"I might've almost ... Broken some of your china." Tom muttered, looking down at the tea set. He had spaced each piece on the kitchen counter.

"Almost is better than, y'know, actually breaking it." Cora chuckled. She came to a stop beside him, looking down at the pieces. "It's a wonder they made it the ride back, let alone out of your apartment. Mondale almost bulldozed me over when I came back with them."

"Your fault for leaving him out." Tom countered. Cora rolled her eyes.

"He's a free spirit. He told me one night. He says to let him out of the crate more." She gestured loosely. "I'm just abiding by his command."

"The crate calms him, actually." Tom replied, crossing his arms across his chest. "Good firm boundaries."

"And I wouldn't know what those are, would I?" She said, bumping her hip against his leg.

They shared some casual laughter, hanging lightly in the air of the kitchen.

No one had been more surprised than Tom at Cora's sudden return. She had emailed him at the airport in Italy but he'd had a gruelling day at the office and neglected to check his inbox. There she was, waiting out the front of his building with her suitcase in hand and her tail tucked between her legs. He had taken one look at her and folded. Yes of course, she could stay and take all the time she needed. Yes of course, he would answer that burning question.

"Why did you help me?"

"Because I know what it's like to drown."

She had not pressed him further. She hadn't needed to. It was enough to be around someone who understood. They were the ones who could not stay anyway despite knowing the worst. Perhaps Greg knew it too, but this pain was different, it bit down where the skin was soft. Cora did not know if Greg loved his family but undoubtedly she knew Tom loved Shiv.

"I'm going to miss him." She admitted after their laughter had broken away. "I got used to having something around to keep me company."

Tom paused, his brow tensing in thought. After a moment he nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You're going to give me Mondale?" For a moment, she was almost hopeful.

"He'd be out on the street in a week. No offense but I don't think you suit a dog." He narrowed his eyes. "There's an idea there though."

"Foreboding. Just don't buy me a bird. I can't stand the idea of hearing my own words screeched back at me ... Thanks for helping, by the way. You really didn't have to," Cora said. Tom glanced upwards, broken from his thoughts.

"Well, I did. You've been cooking for the past month. I had to pay it forward."

"I gave you the leftovers. The cooking's purely for my benefit." Cora had been forced to learn in Sardinia. The upshot had been that she had also learned that she quite liked it. "I need it just as much as my skincare routine."

"I know all about that." Tom replied. "The water on the bathroom floor's evidence every morning."

She saw his smile falter. Guilt flooded her.

She glanced back down at the countertop, gripping her thumbs tighter against her pockets. Cora knew she reminded him of Shiv, not overtly but in the way Cora's presence lingered in the apartment. With Tom at Waystar and Cora setting her life back into motion, they often missed one another, encountering the other's absence instead. The messes they made, things they left behind. Cora doubted Tom would have allowed her to stay if he had not been so lonely.

"Can I show you why I bought this place?" Cora asked to change the subject.

"By all means." Tom replied. "Lead the way."

Cora gestured for him to follow, walking towards the French doors of the dining room. She pressed down gently to open them, the townhouse still felt like it required the quiet esteem of delicate movements. With no furniture and the considerable dip of the ceiling, the soles of her shoes squeaked high in her ears. Cora opened doors to the terrace and stepped out onto the balcony, awaiting Tom's arrival.

His footsteps slowed as he joined her. Cora leaned against the bannister, dark metal cold against her arms. Tom whistled low beneath his breath.

"Wow."

Wow was right. What Cora had initially mistaken for a patch of green on the third floor was actually the top of a tree. Below them, an indoor Zen garden sprawled, about the length of a pool room. Violet told her that was what it had initially been intended as, but the original owners had had another idea after traveling abroad. She'd later learned they were an architect by trade and had run their business out of the building.

Dark green moss covered the ground, where large round stones paved a loafing path that encircled the evergreen. Throughout, leafy ferns interspersed with stone fountains. A round pond curved the outer edge, where a long wooden bench sat lookout over tangerine bodied fish. Lily pads rested atop the water, still and peaceful.

"It's certainly something." Tom murmured with a nod. He breathed in deeply. The air was different here. It teemed with life.

"Isn't it?" Cora replied, almost giddy. She couldn't get over the garden. It had been kismet, the moment she had locked eyes on it. Beyond her wildest dreams.

"It's beautiful."

"Truly."

Another silence passed. This was what she could appreciate about him. The lack of expectation in the pauses. A space to think, somewhere comfortable to land when she finally parsed her words. She deliberated in the quiet.

"I love it. But I think I'm going to miss your place." She admitted with a careful pace. It was still alien to hear herself be so open. Tom turned to her slowly, nodding.

"I'm going to miss you hanging around. It's been quite lonely, if I'm to be honest. Really very lonely."

They had not spoken directly about either Shiv or Roman. It seemed the right thing to do, to leave that rock unturned.

"Did you miss it?" He asked, breaking the silence.

Cora did not need to think. The answer came to her as easily as her own heartbeat.

"As I live and breathe." She replied.

"And is it everything you could have hoped?"

"I haven't dared to hope for much."

Tom massaged a flat hand against his chest, fingers digging against his collarbones. Audibly he swallowed.

"I haven't either." He admitted. "Not these days. I think hoping has only ever led to heartbreak for me. I've given it up."

"I don't think you should give up." Cora replied quickly, biting her lip. Perhaps she was betraying what had been steadily percolating inside of her the past fourteen days, building like steam in a kettle. "It might be foolish of me to say but ... I just ... I've been starting to think that at the end of the day, hope's all that anyone really has. After everything's said and done."

Tom shifted on his feet and Cora worried that she might have displeased him. She didn't know exactly what things looked like for his marriage to Shiv, but it was not good. In passing, Willa had mentioned the loom of divorce. Nothing had been officially stated, but it was only a matter of time.

He rubbed his temple, wrinkles forming with the tug against his skin. He brought his hand to glaze over his brow, rubbing against his eyes. Finally Tom clutched his jaw. He frowned softly, looking her over. He appeared to be debating something, weighing possibilities behind closed lips.

"The thing is, I want it all. I want everything. I want to have my cake and eat it too." Tom admitted slowly. His brows descended dark above the blue of his eyes. This was not easy for him to say. "I can't give up everything I've worked for. My position. Her."

"I've thought about it too." Cora's words were carried on a long sigh. She shrugged her shoulders loftily, a glum pout forming on her lips. "It feels like there might not be a way to have it all. Not while they're so obsessed with Logan, the legacy. I don't know if there's a world where everything ends happily as things stand but ... God, I wish there were. I wish there was a way of having it all."

"Maybe there is."

She realised that something had come over Tom. For the first time since her return, Cora looked past the veil of his mystique. His short hair had become flecked with grey in the months that had spanned, the shadow beneath his eyes darkened by hours spent working well into the night at ATN. He had lost something in his face, like time had desaturated, leaving him transparent with worry and age.

Despite that, he was quite handsome. Cora realised this with a start, her eyes widening and breathing pushed shallow. Shiv's presence had left his features blurred. Without her around, Cora saw him for everything he was.

Their eyes met. She could see her realisation was shared. Slowly they closed the gap between one another.

Cora found her hand resting upon his chest, as if to hold him at bay. She found his cheek with the other, his skin oddly cold. Her brow tensed as Tom leaned down, hovering inches from her lips. She felt him grip her hips tenderly. Her mind grew blank, all else swept neatly away, leaving only a white void.

The moment passed as soon as it had came. It was as though neither quite knew what to do, like a pair of bumbling teenagers. Bothered by the inertia, Cora inclined her head. Tom seemed to have had the same idea, though in the opposite direction. They headbutted each other, leaving them both stunned. Seconds later Cora hissed, clutching her forehead and pulling away. Tom rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Silence was broken with laughter. What were they thinking? They hadn't been. That was why they were here.

"Let's never talk about that." Cora muttered, blushing.

"Oh no, it's going with me to my grave." Tom replied. He paused, narrowing his eyes at her. For a moment, she feared she had angered him. "Have you perhaps heard the tale of Nero and Sporus?"

"Why do I feel like I don't want to hear it?" Her words were slow. Now seemed like an inappropriate time for Roman lore.

"Well ... It's ... There's a nasty bit of castration in it ... Look, I won't get into that. The point is, I know a fair bit about the story and it just clicked for me. How to have it all."

Tom's voice had sunk low. Cora suddenly felt a chill run up her spine. She nodded, urging him to continue.

"There was a Roman courtier named Calvia Crispinilla. Her lineage was mostly unknown admittedly, but she held a great deal of power in court, in fact she was quite close with Nero. Tacitus called her a 'tutor in vice', so to speak. Nero married Spor-"

"Wait," Cora interrupted. His eyebrows rose, a flush growing against his pallor. She bit her lip before inquiring. "Is Sporus Greg?"

"Maybe. Yes." Tom said quickly, waving his hand. "As I was saying, Nero married Sporus. Calvia had accompanied him and his wife previously to Greece, and I suppose, well, taking up the mantle again, she was made hand-maiden to Sporus. A mistress of the wardrobe was the verbiage if I'm not mistaken."

"I'm Calvia ..." Cora muttered.

"You're Calvia." Tom parroted back. "There's something there, don't you think?"

She didn't know what to say. Maybe, yes, in Tom's words. She was reminded then of the pretence she had come to New York. Matsson, the deal, and what it all truly meant.

"I don't know what you're proposing." She admitted after some time. "But I'm ... Tempted."

"I can work with tempted," he replied. "I can't help but ask though. What about Matsson?"

"I help you push the deal through. Matsson's happy. Logan's happy." And the kid's won't be, if history was anything to go by, which apparently it was. "It's been something I've been thinking about for a while though, how it ends with them."

"You know it's a hot stove." Tom murmured. "They can't help themselves from sticking their hands in the burner."

"I know." Cora nodded with a sigh. Everything was falling into place, as if her thoughts had been mapped in the stars. "I can't do much on the business side, I'll admit, but I'll do my best to nudge. I have to. And I think ..."

She trailed off. Tom gestured his head towards her in expectation. Cora took in a deep sigh.

"And I think I'm going to do what I do best." Cora said slowly. She felt a stir in her chest. An evening primrose, flowering in the twilight. "I'm going to start all over again. From the beginning. I'm going fix things, with him. And I'm ... Well I'm going to win him back."

"And how are you going to do that?"

Tom watched her carefully. Never in a million years did she think he would be the first to hear her confession.

"I think I have to do what I haven't done before."

Her breath was icy in her throat. It was not the fraying of her edges, nor the folding in on herself that she had become so accustomed. In her heart, for the very first time, she finally acknowledged the truth as her own.

So long had she run from Roman, but no more.

"I'm going to tell him I'll never leave his side again." Cora said. "I'm going to tell him I'm in love with him."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

AUTHOR'S NOTES

i. OK NICE NOW I CAN FINALLY GET TO THE CANON, sorry for the novel length chapter (i'm not i like this one) but i wanted to tie some loose ends in one go and give each segment the proper time and care

ii. here i am, back again to s/o franksocevn for the genius to go check out the nero and sporus story. calvia was a real part of that story! actually shook me so hard when i read about her. we were looking at parallels in king lear (roman's s4 story matching cordelia's in the og shakespeare as well, jesse armstrong are u a reader??) as well and that's how this came about.

iii. tysm as always for the votes and comments <33 love ya'll sm!! the books been done in my head for months and it's fun to start closing the gap between the stuff in my head and the ending. hope you guys enjoy what i have planned and the direction i'm going.