#ive watched his last lap and his radio so many times ive lost track

[landonor]

does your mind sometimes just randomly go "we did it, will! we did it!"

#lando norris #will joseph #ive watched his last lap and his radio so many times ive lost track #cant get over it

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Smoke & Mirrors - part 4

Neil x Reader

Chapter 4: Save me

(see chapter 3, 2, 1)

summary: what’s gonna happen if we lock them together for some time...?

warnings: some violence, language and other explicit things, 18+ 

author’s note: 4,8k words, just because I thought I needed to add more plot to it because you wanted 2 shorter chapters instead of a longer one. Who’s laughing now? 

Reading this may cause a slight whiplash. Sorry, not sorry. 

song for this chapter: Aimee Mann - Save me 

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

----

The Protagonist’s eyes darted at Ives. 

“And what did she say?”

“Short answer? Nunya,” Ives shrugged, closing the door behind him.

Wheeler giggled and TP looked at her in confusion.

“Long answer,” continued Ives, joining the other two by the coffee machine, “is that as long as they're doing their job, it doesn’t matter who they are fucking in their free time.”

“And are they?”

“What, fucking? I thought we’ve already--”

“No, doing their job,” TP pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I have a mission for them, but it requires locking them together for a significant amount of time.”

Wheeler took a sip from her cup. “If they don’t bond, they’ll bone, and I’d say it’s better than killing each other.”

Ives snorted, clearly amused, but TP hid his face in his palms and groaned lightly.

“Was that your plan all along?”

Wheeler gave them an innocent smile. “Wasn’t yours?” she asked, and as she caught the exchange of looks, her eyes lit up. “You’re welcome.”

-----

You found the car parked near the front door and you had to admit - that grey-ish sedan was the dullest, most ordinary vehicle you’d seen in a while. And that’s why it was perfect.

Neil tossed you the keys and proceeded to load your bags into the trunk. You went to check the GPS setting. The total route was calculated for a little over 5 hours, which gave you enough time to go over the details of the assignment at least once on the way there.

As your mission partner took the passenger seat, you handed him the tablet with all the documents loaded up and ready to go. He nodded, fortunately sparing you the small talk and unnecessary comments, and started reading through them out loud as you followed the GPS directions to your destination.

What you didn’t expect was an almost insultingly short length of reports from the previous stakeout teams, and even a slightly more detailed operation brief was not enough to keep you occupied for too long. Exhausting all the work-related topics, you tensed, suddenly uncomfortable in the silence between the two of you. Especially since you caught Neil’s stare, because if his furrowed brows could be any indication, you had a feeling he might start asking way too many questions any minute now. 

As the radio crackled again, you groaned in frustration. There were still two hours left of traveling through the middle of nowhere, and you’d appreciate any distraction that wouldn’t make you want to drive into the nearest tree. Unlike talking to your partner. 

Neil opened the glove compartment and searched through its contents. He found a thick CD case and started flipping through pages curiously. With the corner of your eye, you saw a grin lighting his face when he finally picked one. 

As you heard the familiar piano notes, your knuckles on the steering wheel turned white. Oh, fuck no.

You glared at Neil, who was gently swaying his head, eyes closed, fighting himself to keep a straight face. When the lyrics started, he pressed his palms to his chest right over his heart and looked at you as he mouthed the words.

//When I was young

I never needed anyone

And making love was just for fun

Those days are gone//

You gritted your teeth and focused back on the road, trying to keep in check the rising anger already boiling the blood in your veins, as Neil was clearly feeling the song more and more with every line.

Well, at least this time he wasn’t--...

And then just as the chorus was about to hit, Neil mimicked the opening drum sequence and spread his arms wide, singing along:

//All by myself

Don't wanna be

All by myself

Anymore//

“If you don’t change that fucking song in the next 10 seconds, be ready to walk all the way to the city--...”

“Come on, it’s a classic!” he complained, the biggest smile not leaving his face even for a moment.

You smacked your tongue, finding your most casual voice, “...and I’m not gonna be bothered with pulling over.”

Neil turned down the volume so the music was barely audible, and while it was not what you’d asked him to do, he didn’t give you a chance to scold him. 

“I bet you’ve spent at least one evening listening to that song with a big box of ice cream on your lap,” he smirked, closely watching your reaction to his words.

You could feel your ears burning. Fucking hell, you really hated his guts.

“No,” you scoffed, but even you were not convinced by the sound of that. Judging by Neil’s expression, neither was he. You winced and groaned, ”...shut up!” 

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” - he shrugged - “been there, done that.” 

“Of course you have,” you couldn’t help but snicker at the image planted in your head. 

The blue eyes studied you for a while longer before focusing back at the view outside the window. Meanwhile, the song ended, getting replaced by an instrumental track. You turned the volume up and for the next minute or two, you drove in silence. 

When you heard a light chuckle, you glanced at Neil again. There was something peculiar in the look on his face, a soft gaze in contrast to a knowing grin.

You sighed.

“Do I wanna know what you’re grinning about now?”

Neil raised a brow and his lips parted in an even wider smile.

“Probably not.”

You shook your head, drawing a long breath, wondering how you were going to survive the next forty-something hours together. You could just hope that being at the actual location and starting the real work was going to make it easier. 

Grounding yourself, you stared into the darkness stepping back under the car’s headlights as dusk slowly turned into night. You noticed a faint glow of city lights reflecting in the clouds over the horizon and you relaxed slowly, tuning out anything other than the road ahead. 

Just as the CD player jumped back to the first song again and you switched to a local radio station, now clear of static, you realized your companion had been unusually quiet for the last half an hour. You looked at the passenger seat only to find Neil deep in his sleep and your heart started beating a little faster. Suddenly, everything about the sight seemed endearing - the peaceful face under the ruffled blonde hair, the slightly open mouth almost hidden behind the turned-up collar of the dark navy jacket, the way he wrapped his arms around himself in a little self-hug…

Your lips curled into a fond smile and as your chest clenched painfully, you turned the radio down, wishing you could do the same thing to your feelings just as easily.

-----------

The second you pulled over in the alley at the back of the abandoned hotel, two figures emerged from the door and rushed in your direction. You recognized the fellow agents and jumped out of the car to make the exchange as smooth as possible. 

“Ten-minute window until the patrol comes back,” you said to a short brunette, taking your bags out of the trunk and passing her the car keys.

“Got it,” she nodded, handing you the room key in return. “Our report should be ready before we reach HQ, I will send it to you ASAP.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that the lack of an easy escape plan is intentional,” said Neil as he grabbed one of the bags and looked around.

“But it is,” you shrugged, walking into the building and heading to the nearest staircase. “No loose ends. You’re either good enough to make it out undiscovered and alive, or you get revealed and --...”

“...and then even having the cavalry on call is not going to make a difference, I get it,’ he sighed, matching your two-steps-at-once pace up the stairs, “Can’t say I like it, though.” 

“So let’s try not to do anything stupid so we don’t get caught, shall we?”

A corner of your lips twitched as you heard him scoff at your remark, but to your surprise, he didn’t take the bait. Huh.

When you reached the room, you turned the lock and looked around, taking mental note of the location of every piece of equipment left by the previous team - two cameras, night vision binoculars, and a parabolic microphone placed by the windows. Some parts of the blinds on the windows were broken, others were missing, but the remaining parts still provided a decent cover from the curious eyes peeking up from street level. Other than that, the room was exactly what you would expect from a stakeout location - peeled-off wallpapers of an undefined color, a small table with an electric kettle, a couple of chairs, a mini-fridge, and a mattress. 

As you went to check the last few minutes registered by the camera, Neil started unpacking the supplies. Seeing nothing interesting on the feed, you grabbed one of the water bottles he’d just put on the table and took a seat by the window, your usual first-hour-of-stakeout enthusiasm fending off the tiredness you felt after the long drive.

Neil took a laptop and sat on a chair at the other window, alternating glancing outside and typing in a message to TP with a quick update on your situation.

Your main objective was to observe the building on the other side of the street, especially one loft that was suspected to be a meeting place for one of the smuggling cells’ bosses. Snapping photos of the vehicles pulling over, of the visitors, and reporting any odd activity straight ahead. The usual. But it was past midnight already and your targets were having a pretty quiet night, apparently. 

As Neil finished filing in the paperwork, he stretched his arms and groaned.

“Tea?”

You rubbed your eyes, a sudden wave of sleepiness flooded your brain as soon as you lost focus on the mission. 

“Yes, please, there should be a box with a green one somewhere.”

“Ah, pity, I don’t know how well it’s gonna mix with the biscuits,” said Neil in a ridiculous posh accent, making you facepalm in response. 

Partially, to hide an amused smile. 

You really were that tired, huh?

“I take my tea with no sugar, no biscuits, and no snarky comments, thanks,” you huffed as your eyes followed him to the table.

“I, too, don’t like talking over a cuppa.”

“What did I just say--” you groaned, smacking your thigh in frustration.

Neil giggled and rolled his eyes, now lit by a playful twinkle. “All right, one ‘green tea no bullshit’ coming right up.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, glancing up to the ceiling as if it was supposed to help with the alarming level of annoyance in your system.

Less than two hours on-site and you already wanted to strangle him. 

Among other things.

And before you could stop your tired brain, it brought up a memory of that karaoke night. 

His hands roaming through your body. The sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor. Your frantic gasp when you felt him inside you. His firm grip on your hips. The heart racing in your chest. Your longing body pressing itself into him even further. His uneven breath on your neck. The quickening pace of his thrusts. Your eyes squeezing shut. His muffled moan when you tugged at his hair. The cold wall against your cheek. Your fingers interlocked. His arm wrapped around you tightly. The things whispered into your ear---

“Your tea.”

“Hmm?” you mumbled, blinking rapidly and focusing your gaze on a thermal cup in front of your face. “Oh, thanks.”

Neil studied your expression curiously, a sly grin hiding in the corner of his mouth.

“Pleasant daydream?”

“Maybe,” you sent him a smug smile and raised a brow.

His lips parted slightly at the implication. Drinking his tea, he schooled his features and sat back on the chair. 

You spent the next moments enjoying the hot beverages, the silence becoming more comfortable with every sip you took. But as the time went by and you ran out of tea, the peacefulness turned into boredom. 

Finally, Neil shuffled in his seat and turned your way. 

"We should play a game."

Even though it sounded tempting, you didn’t trust those roguish sparks in his eyes. 

“We already had a chance to play ‘yellow car’,” - you shrugged - “not my fault you chose a nap instead.”

His puzzled face gave you a hint he didn’t get the reference. Pity.

“I was thinking about some sort of...questions game,” he said and cleared his throat, shifting in his chair again. "To get to know each other better."

"Why?" you stared at him with your mouth open, suddenly taken aback. 

He gave you a half-smile. "Don't you think it's weird that the only thing I know about you is all the ways to turn you on and piss you off?"

"Wouldn't be so confident about that ‘all’ part…" you huffed and lost a train of thought as you spotted the familiar flare in his gaze.

"You’re sure you wanna challenge me like that right now?"

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the way his voice got lower. You gritted your teeth as your mind started racing to find a way out of the dangerous waters. 

"Aren't you a master of multitasking?" you teased, batting your eyelashes.

"And aren't you scared of having an actual conversation?" Neil narrowed his eyes and grimaced slightly. 

"Fine!” you fumed as you tossed your hands in the air in defeat. “Why don’t you get straight to the point because I have a weird feeling you have a very specific question in mind."

A silence that dropped after your words was heavy and you realized you’d made a mistake.

"Actually, I do,” he said, tilting his head and locking his gaze on you. “What's up with you and kissing?"

...shit, walked right into that one, huh? 

You pulled one leg up on the chair, glancing outside the window to avoid the blue eyes boring into you. "It's nothing."

“Didn’t look like nothing to me.”

Sighing, you rested the chin on your knee and wrapped your arms around it, as if that little bit of comfort was enough to make the conversation easier. Your ears were burning, your heart pounded heavily in the clenched chest, and it all was only adding to your frustration. Because it really was nothing. Or maybe it should have been, and that was the issue.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it--”

Your eyes darted at Neil only to meet his soft look. A shadow of concern on his face wasn’t helping, but you were grateful that he was willing to give you a way out.

Although at that moment, you felt you owed him an explanation. 

“No, it’s just that it’s a bit silly,” you said, wincing. “I’m gonna tell you, but if you laugh, I will murder you in your sleep.”

Neil smiled lightly in encouragement.

“Got it.”

So you took a deep breath and squeezed the first word past the lump in your throat.

“It’s just that kissing to me was always something… special,” you cringed, fully aware that you sounded like a flustered teenager. “Like it really meant something. Do you know where I’m going with this?”

Neil’s brows knitted together.

“I think so, yeah.”

“Good,” you sighed, forcing yourself to breathe again. “And some time ago, I made a mistake and opened up too soon, burning myself. Fuck, it’s pathetic, I know, I just…” you hesitated and looked away, feeling the rising panic. You were exposing yourself, again. “...maybe I’m just wired that way and we should leave it at that. And never talk about it again,” your voice was hollow, the result of your brain’s desperate attempts to keep your emotions bottled up, just to keep you safe. 

And after what felt like forever--

“Okay.”

You shot him a thankful look, too overwhelmed to say anything. 

Neil got up, moving his shoulders in small circles to get rid of the stiffness. As he walked by you on his way to the bathroom, he patted your arm lightly. Reassuringly. The tip of your nose tingled and you bit the inside of your cheek, cursing a sudden wave of softness clouding your mind.  

A few minutes passed and Neil was back. He fell on the chair heavily, slowly massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers. Catching a question in your stare, he shook his head and grinned.

“What?” you asked, squinting suspiciously.

Neil chuckled, leaning back and spreading his legs. “Trying to figure you out is giving me a headache.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, focusing on the view outside the window. 

“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two different things, you know.”

“So it’s all an act?”

You looked back at him, suddenly perplexed. “What is?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely in your direction and shrugged. “Or rather your usual behavior.”

You snorted. “Oh, I am a real ray of sunshine, but somehow being around you makes my inner bitch jump out,” you teased, meeting his amused gaze. A corner of your lips curled and you exhaled slowly. “I don’t know, after some time you learn life is easier that way, and at one point the line blurs,” you stopped for a second and frowned, wondering what had gotten into you tonight. “Does it make any sense to you?”

Something new tainted Neil’s features as he looked away, smiling sadly.

“You have no idea.”

Just as you opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, the blue eyes darted back at you.

“I’ll take the first shift, already had my nap after all,” the little laugh escaping his mouth felt forced. “You must be exhausted. Try to get some sleep.”

Oh you were exhausted, all right. But all of the sudden it felt as if he wanted to get rid of you and you couldn’t help feeling a bit hurt by that. There was something in his presence that gave you a hint that it wasn’t the best idea to pressure him about it now, and you slumped your shoulders, nodding.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, getting up. All that held-back fatigue was going to hit you in full force any minute now, and you really wanted to be laid down by then.

A few moments in the bathroom and you were back in the room again in more comfortable clothes. You rolled out a sleeping bag on the mattress and slipped into it, covering your mouth as you let out a small yawn. 

“Wake me up if anything happens or you need me to take over, will you?”

Neil shot you a quick look from his chair. 

“Sure thing,” he gave you a weak smile. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumbled. 

You curled up and closed your eyes, hoping the heaviness you felt in your chest would be gone by the morning.

--------

It took your still half-asleep brain a moment to remember where you were and what was going on. You looked around as much as you could without moving your body to avoid revealing that you were no longer asleep. Oh right, the stakeout. 

You noticed Neil sitting on the floor by the only floor-to-ceiling window near the corner of the room, looking outside. The early morning light seeping through the blinds was reflecting in the disheveled blonde hair, a fitting addition to his overall tired appearance. It seemed like he’d spent most of the night working through whatever bothered him after your last talk, but he seemed more at peace now. You studied him in a little moment of sleep-deprived self-indulgence, musing over the dark quarter zip pullover, those absurdly long legs in khaki pants--...

Okay, enough. You sat up, rubbing your face.

“How’s the mattress?”

Hearing Neil’s raspy voice made you quite tempted to invite him over to check for himself.

“Passable,” you replied instead, stretching your arms and wriggling out of your sleeping bag. You nodded at the cameras. “Anything?” 

“Not really. One visitor, already on the list,” he said as his eyes followed you around the room.

“All right,” you sighed, flipping the switch on the kettle. “I need coffee, you want some?”

“No, thank you, but if you could pass me a bottle of water--”

You grabbed one and tossed it to him, heading to the bathroom. 

When you finally looked and felt like a decent human being again, you went back to finish making coffee. As you walked to the windows with the thermal cup in your hands, you caught Neil’s resigned stare. You sat down on the floor in front of him, leaning your shoulder against the wall. A glimpse of internal battle clouded his features and you tilted your head, waiting for him to speak up first.

“I didn’t want this,” he blurted out, and when nothing else followed the statement, you cleared your throat. 

“You have to be more specific, I’m afraid.”

Neil clenched his jaw. You noticed a hint of frustration in his eyes, but then his shoulders dropped and he let out a nervous chuckle, fastening his gaze on the view outside the window.

“I wanted to do things by the book. When TP recruited me… I thought I’d be just another field agent and I was okay with that,” he sighed and grimaced. “But he insisted on fast-tracking me, even when I told him it wasn’t fair to the rest of you.” Neil shook his head slowly and a corner of his lips twitched. “He promised me one of his best agents’ help on the way though. Imagine my surprise when the agent in question kept snarling at me and shoving me around instead.” 

When Neil looked back at you, you realized the meaning behind his words and your mind went blank. You stared into the blue eyes with your mouth open, trying to process everything you’d just heard and its implications.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you breathed out, feeling light-headed.

“Why?”

“Nobody told you…?” you asked, but his confused expression was his only answer. And you simply couldn’t believe that he hadn’t known all this time. “I’d been working my ass off for that position,” you huffed, studying his reaction to your words closely. “And then you showed up.”

Neil’s face dropped as he finally connected all the dots. “Fuck...I had no idea, I’m sorry.” 

Seeing his sincere look, you sighed, raking fingers through your hair. Fucking hell, what a mess. The impossible mix of emotions swirled inside you and you giggled hysterically, suddenly finding the whole situation absolutely hilarious. 

“And I had no idea I was supposed to babysit you,” you said as you stretched your legs, positioning them alongside Neil’s. 

“Thought we were having a moment here,” he scoffed, smiling lightly.

You smirked and tapped his thigh with your foot.

“Think again.”

Neil tapped you back, stifling a chuckle. “You’re insufferable.”

“Too bad you can’t do anything about that now, huh,” you teased, wiggling your brows as you nibbled at your bottom lip.

The blue eyes lit up. “Just you wait till we finish the job,” he said slowly and placed a hand on your ankle.

But before you could respond, you heard a phone alert and Neil jumped at his feet.

He read the message quickly. 

“Seems like we are about to see some action after all,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear. You downed your coffee and joined Neil by the table.

“Hold on, I’m gonna put you on speaker… okay, now”

“Hope you two are rested,” TP’s voice filled the room. “We intercepted a phone call. Our target is expecting a delivery in the next hour or so. Significant enough that from this moment on, the mission objective changes.” You exchanged looks with Neil, knowing well what was coming next. You walked back to the windows to keep an eye on the street. “We have a chance to prevent this shipment from spreading to different sellers. I’m sending the cavalry your way. But you’ll need to assess the situation as it progresses.”

“Means we might have to engage early, got it.”

“It’s your call, Neil. And as we have enough intel now… no loose ends. Good luck.” said TP and hung up.

Neil tossed the phone on the table and dashed to the bags to prep the equipment. You noticed movement in the loft across the street and snapped a few pictures before looking back at your partner.

“Are you good to go? You haven’t slept tonight.”

He glanced at you and gave you a smug smile. 

“How nice of you to worry about me.”

You could feel the usual annoyance mixed with a new emotion, but maybe you were just glad to be back on familiar waters.

“Nah, I’m worried about the mission,” you snorted. “Especially if we may end up going in there alone.”

“I’m okay. How does it look out there?”

You looked outside again and tensed as a van appeared at the end of the street. “We’ve got company.”

Neil changed you by the window and you rushed to get ready.

-------

After clearing the back entrance, you found yourselves in the underground garage. 

Splitting up, you took down the guards one by one without raising any alarms. 

Neil checked the van and then you both made your way upstairs. You knew there were at least five more people in the loft, but you had to rely on the element of surprise because the cavalry was still on their way. 

As you got to the door, you cocked your pistol and met Neil’s determined stare. You nodded. 

Bursting through the door, your instincts kicked in, allowing you to put a bullet into two men before they had a chance to realize what was going on. In the next second all hell broke loose. You knew one thing - you somehow underestimated the numbers. And just as you thought that maybe you got lucky and got every last of them, someone grabbed you from behind and you felt something cold and sharp pressed against your neck. Fuck.

You dug your fingers into the arm wrapped around your shoulders, but a stinging pain made you stop any further attempts at breaking free. The blood pounded in your ears and everything seemed to slow down. 

You noticed Neil standing in front of you with a gun pointed right next to your head. 

He secured a grip on his pistol and the man holding you yelled something at him, but you didn’t listen, focusing completely on the blue eyes, now filled with a silent question, looking straight into yours.

You let out a shaky breath and blinked slowly. 

A gunshot echoed through the room.

The pressure on your neck lowered and you heard a thud of a body fitting the floor behind you. 

Neil lowered his gun. 

You stared at each other for what seemed like forever.

“Nice shot,” you said, composing yourself first.

He gave you a weak smile, and just as he opened his mouth to say something, your comms filled with a familiar voice.

“We’ve missed all the fun, eh?”

------

Neither of you said anything on the way back to the HQ, not counting the short answers to the questions asked by Ives, but even he gave up after a while seeing you weren’t in the mood for talking.  

You got your duffel bag out of the trunk and looked around. Neil was standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to the building, talking on the phone. You walked up to him slowly, waiting for him to finish the conversation.

“Do they need us to get in to file a report?” 

“No, I convinced TP to give us the rest of the day off,” he said, hiding the phone in the pocket of his jacket. “We can do that first thing tomorrow, I’m just gonna drop the equipment now.”

“Great, thanks.”

You couldn’t wait to get back to your apartment. You tossed the bag on your arm and smiled at the thought of a long hot shower and crashing in your own bed. 

There was just one thing you needed to do first.

Neil took a step towards the building and without thinking too much about it, you reached out for his hand.

“Neil…?”

He stopped and turned around, puzzled. His eyes dropped to your joined hands and slowly moved up to your face. 

You gave him a nervous smile.

“Thank you.”

His features softened and he squeezed your hand gently.

“Don’t mention it.”

And then he smirked.

...of course.

“Guess that makes us even.”

(next chapter->)

#neil tenet x reader #neil tenet #neil tenet fanfiction #tenet #robert pattinson #tenet fanfiction #the protagonist tenet #ives tenet #wheeler tenet #neil tenet imagine #neil x reader #smoke & mirrors #tags hate me

[wawerrell]

Nana

I lost my grandmother early in the morning on New Year’s Eve. Nana was loving, funny, and intelligent; she taught me how to read and how to love reading; she took me in her arms when I was upset; she showed me time and time again that I would never defeat her in Scrabble; she forgave me even when I did not deserve it; she stayed up past midnight to say, "Hey, Teach!" and enjoy champagne with me when I got my job. She changed the lives of those whom she met and loved and made me the person I am today.

She was my best friend.

Nana loved being a mother, a grandmother, and—as of just a few months ago—a great-grandmother more than anything else in the world. As we gathered by her bed and held her hand as she began to let go, “To the Lighthouse,” one of her favorite books, seemed to sing from the shelf. Nana’s writing adorns the opening page. She remarks how the book improves upon each reading, and then writes: “Philosophy is what we don’t know, want to know, tried to know—but only God knows.” Flipping through the worn pages, I traced her annotations throughout Virginia Woolf’s masterpiece. It is clear and unsurprising that Nana loved Mrs. Ramsay and Lily, for she connected with so many of the women’s interior monologues about emotional understanding and frustration. More than any other, though, one early passage stands out. Unlike many other passages with marginal explanations, Nana underlined and starred: “She would have liked always to have had a baby. She was happiest carrying one in her arms.” Just a few days before she died peacefully in the early morning, Nana held her first great-grandchild in her arms and laughed: she was happier in that moment than she had been in a long while.

Nana paused over—and could not find words for—a passage in which Mrs. Ramsay reflects on why children grow up so quickly, on why they seem so determined to rush toward the trials and pain that come with age, on how she wishes she could freeze time to protect them from the vicissitudes of fortune. I remember how clearly Nana echoed both the wishes and the frustrations of Mrs. Ramsay when Yaya, my mother’s mother, was diagnosed with stage IV ovarian cancer: “Sugarfoot, I wish I could take all the pain and the sadness for you—I wish that I could shield you from loss. But I can’t. Because that’s life.”

Nana knew that life and love lead inevitably to death and loss. But she also knew what we can learn from “To the Lighthouse”: not just that life and death, like love and loss, are inextricably bound together, but that, more importantly, loss and continuity coexist within our hearts and memories. Love has within it the power to defeat time. In one of my favorite poems, John Donne reflects on sickness and death:

Whilst my physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown That this is my south-west discovery, Per fretum febris, by these straits to die,

I joy, that in these straits I see my west; For, though their currents yield return to none, What shall my west hurt me? As west and east In all flat maps (and I am one) are one, So death doth touch the resurrection.

His doctors surround his bedbound body and map out his ailments like constellations across the cosmos—and all see that his sickness points toward the setting of the sun in the west as surely as the North Star guides sailors at night. Donne reminds us, though, that flattened maps are misleading: for the further west one goes, the sooner one arrives in the east. Just so, he writes, death does not mark the end of love, but the continuation of it.

Like the effervescent Mrs. Ramsay, who dies suddenly and unexpectedly and unexplainedly in the middle of the night, Nana has died. And like Mrs. Ramsay, Nana will never really be gone. For, just as Arthur Hallam speaks once more to Alfred, Lord Tennyson as the poet turns over an old letter from his dear, dead friend, Mrs. Ramsay appears to Lily in a moment of sublime love and memory:

“Her heart leapt at her and seized her and tortured her. ‘Mrs. Ramsay! Mrs. Ramsay!’ she cried… Mrs. Ramsay—it was part of her perfect goodness—sat there quite simply, in the chair, flicked her needles to and fro, knitted her reddish-brown stocking, cast her shadow on the step. There she sat.”

Nana will be a wonderful part of all of us forever. Near the end of her life, Nana told the loving family gathered around her bed: “It’s time for me to go home.”

“Home” probably resembles her enchanted childhood, for the love that she gave us was the love that had surrounded and defined her life: not a day of her young life went by without visits from and to doting uncles, caring aunts, trifling cousins, and those familial taskmasters who never let little hands sit idle. Nana was the second child of Lee Roy and Alberteen, who had three daughters and one baby boy, John Leroy, whom the girls simply adored—and spoiled. From her father, Nana received a twinkle in her eye that never dissipated. Family meant everything to him, a trait that he passed on to his own children and grandchildren. From her mother, a gifted schoolteacher, Nana learned to love literature and poetry. Nana admired her mother’s intellectual curiosity, which had often landed her in hot water as a young girl “working” on a ranch: Teenie loved to read, but simply hated to churn butter. Teenie would spend all morning reading in the light of dawn, but always with open ears: whenever she heard somebody coming, she would hide the book under her apron and start churning away.

Many of Nana’s fondest childhood memories were of her visits with her own grandmother, a great student of the Bible named Zemma Yett. “Oh, here are my girls!” Grandmother Zemma would cry whenever Nana showed up with her sisters, Billie Marguerite and Nora Lanelle. Evenings on the screen porch were filled with the nighttime sounds of Texas and Zemma’s intonations of Scripture. For much of Nana’s childhood, Zemma read by the light of a kerosene lamp—until one day, when Nana watched from her lap as President Roosevelt’s trucks wove electrical wires throughout sleepy Florence, Texas like thread through a loom as part of Rural Electrification.

Nana grew up in a Texas that no longer exists: a verdant and lush place defined by neighborly care and compassion. Texans of all backgrounds came together around the porch of her father’s grocery store, the gathering place for the neighborhood. As the sun went down, neighbors would sit around and tell stories or listen to the radio. Nana recalled with pleasure the excitement of the entire town listening to the bout between Max Schmeling and Max Baer—and remembers how the town would grind to a halt whenever Joe Louis, “the best of all,” stepped into the ring.

But with World War II came rationing, the end of the family grocery, and loss: two of Nana’s cousins joined the Air Force but did not live to see peace. Any romanticizing of war a young girl might come to believe in in the shadow of the Alamo died alongside Edwin and Charles, who loomed in Nana’s memory as the handsome man with shining cowboy boots and jodhpurs—not as the bloated body that washed ashore when his plane went down. Nana, Billie, and Nonie spent afternoons anxiously awaiting the local newspaper’s updates of war casualties and kept tearful track of the losses in their yearbooks. But the dark clouds of violence across either ocean brought Nana closer to literature and poetry.

Literature brought with it both balm and escape, and, at college, Nana fell feverishly in love with Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning. She studied those Victorian works alongside Professor A. J. Armstrong, the head of the English department at Baylor, and became his academic assistant. Annotations in her neat-yet-illegible cursive sprawl across every single page of her textbooks; when space proved too tight for all she felt about her favorite poem, “Pippa Passes,” she inserted additional leaves.

She was working for the newspaper on a story about Christmas celebrations for soldiers when she interviewed about the handsomest man she had ever laid eyes upon: James MacDonald Werrell, who, forty years later, would be called Papa. Papa had returned to Texas, where his father was stationed at Fort Hood, to recover from a debilitating injury received during the Battle of the Bulge and to finish college. Although they fell for one another quite quickly—he was charming; she was witty—Jim fell out of touch over the Christmas holiday. Lee Roy did his best to comfort Nana, but she was broken-hearted.

And then, at long last, the phone rang. Nana gleefully accepted Papa’s apology—he had been on vacation with his parents, who, being nearly as cheap as he was, would not tolerate a long-distance telephone call no matter how in love he claimed to be—and hung up the phone in the kitchen only to find that her father had disappeared. Her mother stood next to the pantry door with her ear flat against it. As Nana walked toward her, she, too, heard her father’s crying: “Don’t worry, sugarfoot,” Alberteen whispered to her daughter, “Daddy just knows you’re going to be married now. He doesn’t want you to leave.”

They were married on December 20, 1947 and honeymooned in San Antonio in Papa’s yellow Jeep. Papa’s parents were not at the wedding both because they were stationed in Paris and because there was little love lost between in-laws: Angus Werrell was a Colonel in World War I, while Lee Roy had been a private. “It’s no man that blows a whistle,” Lee Roy remarked about commanders who stayed behind in trenches and sent men over the top and to their deaths. When Papa finished his studies at Baylor, he and Nana worked as fire lookouts in Colorado parks before going on a second honeymoon to visit his parents in Europe.

Nana saw many of the most beautiful sights in the world for the first time, while Papa saw them again, but in a vastly different light: with no heavy rifle, no wet socks, no constant vigilance or fear. Nana and Papa, alone in the Sistine Chapel for an hour, lay down on the floor to look up at the ceiling, then illuminated only by candlelight. They held hands through the streets of Paris and enjoyed picnics throughout the Austrian countryside—except when Jeanne, Papa’s sister, packed the food and placed the ham next to the petrol tank in the trunk of the car.

Nana continued her love affair with the world of art when she and Papa moved to New York City upon their return to the United States. In particular, Nana found herself under the spell of Bidu Sayão’s voice. Growing up, she had only ever heard the voice of Amelita Galli-Curci on the wind-up Victrola at her grandmother’s house, and so nothing prepared her for the clarity and beauty of the soprano singing Mimi in “La bohème,” Gilda in “Rigoletto,” or songs of her native Brazil. Papa’s days were filled with classes at the Columbia School of International Affairs, during which time Nana combed the hallways of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and his evenings were dedicated to practicing his German nightly with their landlords, Josef and Emma Ledwig. But Nana, a natural learner, picked up the language faster and more fluently than Papa; more than seventy years later, Nana could still recite Goethe’s “Der Erlkönig” from memory.

Papa joined the State Department following his graduation—work that brought Nana and Papa and their first baby, James MacDonald Werrell, Jr., then just a few months old, to what was then called Siam. While Papa conducted spook-work, Nana walked baby Jamie hurriedly away from prowling Varanus monitors, visited temples, and became the most frequent customer at C. J. Chan & Co., an English bookshop in downtown Bangkok, where she discovered the works of Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Upon their return to the United States, two sons—William Gresham Werrell, my father, and Timothy Savage Werrell—shortly followed their older brother into the world. And that was just the beginning of her adventures.

Nana lived to be so old in large part because she stopped driving. Like my high school English teacher Mrs. Chanson and so many other Southerners, Nana did not drive well, but instead casually: she did not always bother to open the garage door before reversing, for instance. While this might seem to suggest that she was just another little old lady from Texas, Nana was a political firecracker. She named her favorite dog, a territorial Jack Russell, after Lady Jane Digby, whose sex life created diplomatic tidal waves across two continents. She hated Viagra commercials with a passion because she believed they promulgated unhealthy and misogynistic views of sex: “They imply that it’s all up to the man: as soon as the man is ‘ready,’ one is supposed to drop everything one is doing to accommodate him. But what if I have a casserole in the oven?”

Indeed, one of the drawbacks of living for close to a century, Nana remarked this past Christmas, was that she had lived long enough to grow ashamed of Texas: her heart broke watching the most violent and vituperative voices attempt to speak for Texas and redefine Texan values. She loved her little brother so much that she could tolerate his support of Nixon—even when her sons and husband could barely stand to be at the dinner table with him. But politics changed, and so did her patience. Because nothing was dearer to Nana than her family, she knew in her heart that children belong in the arms of their loving family—not in cages. She could not abide hatred or vitriol; she could not understand why anyone would knowingly embrace cruelty, ignorance, or bigotry.

Driving to Charleston after leaving her now-empty home, I remembered the weeks she spent living with us and sleeping in my bedroom. We both kept one another awake with chatter and with snoring. During those late nights—Papa was in the hospital at the VA, reliving the Battle of the Bulge over and over again—we looked up at the phosphorescent stars on my ceiling and talked about school, books, friends, Papa, and memories.

I’ll always hear her voice.