by June Faver
Yeah, I’d like that, but she would probably deck me. “It can’t be all that bad. Just assign it to someone else.”
“Noooo. I can’t do that. I’m the only other woman on the staff, besides Gayle, the receptionist, and I just assigned her to write the obits. She’s never written anything before, but I thought I would give her a chance.” She stopped in the middle of her tirade and gazed at him uncertainly. “There’s no one but me. I have to write the column and fill it with lots of sage motherly advice. And I have to have it ready by the deadline. We go to press tomorrow at noon, and I have nothing…nothing.”
He looked around. “Well, can’t you just write something? I mean, how hard can it be?”
A strangled whimper escaped her throat. “Yeah, I should be able to do that, except Rhea took the letters with her.”
“Letters?”
“The letters that people wrote in, asking for advice from Dear Irene.” Her lower lip trembled. “They’re missing. I don’t know how to give advice when I don’t even know the questions.” She looked like she was close to tears.
“I see.” He stroked his hand over his face, regretting his decision not to shave today. “Can you show me some of the past Dear Irene columns?”
She nodded and rolled her chair to another desk. In a drawer were the neatly folded issues of the Gazette. She extracted a handful from the stack and wordlessly handed them to him.
Frank opened the first one and spread it on the desk. “Let’s see now…” He scanned the pages until he found the column labeled Dear Irene. “The first one is asking for help in telling the neighbor that his dog is tearing up her flower beds. The second one sounds like a young person asking for advice about a girl he likes, and the third is a woman who wants to end a long-standing feud with her sister-in-law.” He turned to Reggie Lee. “I’m sure you could offer some clever advice about these problems.”
She nodded. “I suppose.”
“Or you could just not run the column this week.” He cocked his head to one side and eyed her speculatively.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t do that.” She looked stricken. “People love that column. I couldn’t disappoint our readership.” She gnawed her lower lip. “And the space is already blocked out for the column.”
He smiled at her. “Let’s get busy then.” He took off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “I’m going to read over these past columns and write the letters. You can come up with the answers.”
“You mean, fake them?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. If you want the readers to have a column, we have no other choice.”
She nodded and rolled her chair back to the desk she was using. “You’re right. We have to do this.”
With a little thought, he was able to compose a couple of letters that sounded plausible as having come from local citizens. He passed the first one to Reggie Lee and watched her smile.
“This doesn’t sound half bad.” She turned to face him. “Thank you, Frank. I really appreciate your help.”
He grunted. “You can pay me back with some elbow grease.”
She raised her brows.
“My house. You’re going to help me with the redo thing, aren’t you?”
She brightened immediately. “Oh, yes. I’m very interested in your project. I can’t wait to get started.”
He smiled with more assurance than he felt. He wasn’t certain about the redecorating or remodeling or whatever she had in mind. But gazing into her big dark eyes, he was sure of one thing. He wanted Reggie Lee Stafford.
She took the letters he had fabricated and began to write what he supposed would be the Dear Irene column. After a few keystrokes, she turned back to Frank.
“You don’t need to stay. I can finish the column now. Thanks for your help.”
He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. “Not getting rid of me. It’s almost eleven o’clock, and I wouldn’t feel right leaving you here alone.”
She flapped her hand in a shooing motion. “Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.”
“Not leaving.”
“Are you seriously worried about me?”
“Maybe,” he said. “I’m just a careful kind of guy. So turn around and get busy. I need my beauty sleep.”
She flashed a grin and complied. “Yes, sir.”
He strolled around the office and pretended to be inspecting the place, but he kept a surreptitious eye on her. When she logged off and rolled her chair back, he turned to catch her scrunching her shoulders up to her ears and then rotating them.
He reached out to stroke the skin on her neck. “You have a lot of tension. Let me give you a hand.”
She sucked in a breath and seemed to freeze at his touch.
He lightly massaged the back of her neck and her shoulders. He felt her taut muscles relax beneath his fingers. He wanted to let her know he was crazy about her, but this wasn’t the time to do it. Just take it easy. “Better?”
She sighed. “Better. Thanks.”
“Let’s get out of here. I think you’ve done enough for one day.” He crossed to open the door for her and held it for her to pass. He switched off the lights and locked up. When he turned, he expected that she would have been halfway to her car, but she was standing behind him.
He almost leaned down to kiss her but held himself in check. He took her arm and walked her across the pea-gravel parking lot to her car.
She surprised him by giving him a hurried hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for everything, Frank.” She climbed into her car and started the motor.
He stood like a statue, raising a hand in response to her breezy wave as she drove away. It took a moment for him to figure out that the drumming he heard was the sound of his heart pulsing in his ears.
Chapter 6
After the Gazette was published and distributed the next afternoon, Reggie Lee was more than a little anxious. Writing the Dear Irene column hadn’t been so difficult with Frank supplying the letters. She wondered if her advice was appropriate. She wondered if it made sense. Most of all, she wondered if the readership would notice that there had been a change of “Irenes.”
And if the readers were able to accept the new Irene, would she be able to keep it up? Or was there someone out in the world who yearned to become the next Irene? Maybe Reggie would just be the interim Irene?
She paced around her office while torturing herself with self-doubt. What had she been thinking when she accepted the position of editor? Moreover, what had Phil been thinking when he’d appointed her to the job? That question seemed to burn a hole in her gut. But, since he was long gone, she had no way of contacting her former boss.
She folded her arms across her chest and perched on the edge of her desk. What had she been thinking? She supposed that some of her initial confidence had to do with Frank’s encouragement. But he hadn’t seen her since high school. How did he have any idea what she would be up for? He was a relative stranger now.
Reggie heaved a deep sigh. Frank was supposed to be an astute businessman. What made him think she could handle this job?
Reggie’s throat tightened up. This is my one big chance. I can’t blow it. No matter what, she would make sure she evolved in this position. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
That thought hit her like a slap. She actually cared what the Gazette staff thought. She wanted the community to be proud of her. This was her hometown, and her daughter would grow up here. She wanted her to be glad her mother was sitting behind the editor’s desk.
And then there was Frank.
She picked up a ballpoint pen and clicked it several times in rapid succession. Is that all there is? Do I really care what he thinks? Is it personal or professional?
“No!” She jumped when her voice rebounded back off the hard surfaces. “No,” she whispered. “It’s strictly professional.”
But last night she had hugged him and given him a peck on the cheek. She had been feeling…grateful. That’s it! I was grateful when he helped me out. She gnawed on her lower lip and began to click the ballpoint pen again.
* * *
Gayle had approached her boss’s closed door twice already but chickened out before she could muster the nerve to venture a knock. It’s now or never. She raised her fist to knock but lowered it immediately and turned around, pressing her lips together in frustration.
I am so pitiful.
Gayle heaved a sigh and returned to her desk near the front. She drummed her fingers on the scarred wood surface, chastising herself for lacking a spine.
She rose to greet a woman who had come in to place an ad for her garage sale the following week, and the next person to come through the door was someone she knew.
Jill Garland was the sheriff’s daughter, and she also owned a day care center for mostly preschoolers, but Gayle knew a few kids of working moms were dropped off there by the bus for after-school care. It must be tough to be a working parent.
She knew Jill from high school. She and Reggie Lee had been seniors when Gayle was a sophomore. It had seemed to Gayle that these popular girls ran the school.
“Hi, Ms. Garland,” Gayle said.
Jill was a stunning redhead with green eyes. She would have made heads turn for her beauty alone, but she had a take-charge manner that garnered attention as well.
“Hi. It’s Gayle, right?” Green eyes examined her closely. “I remember you.”
Gayle smiled, flattered to be remembered. “Yeah, from school.”
“But you’ve been working here awhile, too.” Jill flashed her million-dollar grin. “I wanted to see Reggie, if she’s available.”
Gayle half turned and punched in Reggie’s extension on the phone. “Ms. Stafford? Ms. Garland is here to see you.” She hung up, motioned for Jill to come around the counter, and then led her to the big, scary door Gayle had been afraid to broach. She scowled at her own cowardice and knocked on the doorframe. She opened it when Reggie called out.
When the door opened wide, Reggie was standing behind her desk, waving with both hands. “Come on in, you two.”
Yes, Gayle was stunned, but she dutifully slipped in behind Jill.
“Sit right down, ladies.” Reggie was smiling as she gestured to the two chairs in front of her desk.
Gayle quietly took a seat, hoping her smile looked genuine and didn’t reveal her acute anxiety.
“You sure do look good behind that desk,” Jill commented.
“I sure don’t feel comfortable yet.” Reggie heaved a sigh. “But it’s good to see a friendly face.”
Jill gestured to Gayle. “Well, you’ve got Gayle. At least you have one person under the age of fifty to work with.”
Reggie laughed. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I guess you’re right. Everyone here has been on the staff since Miss Rosie hired them… Some were here when her husband was the publisher.”
“In that case, the two of you have to keep the interest of those in the community who are not geriatric.” Jill looked from one to the other for approval.
“Sure, I’ll do my part.” Gayle surprised herself by speaking up. “I mean, I’ll be happy to do whatever you think I should.”
Reggie gazed at her thoughtfully.
“What I had in mind,” Jill said, “was to see if you might be interested in doing a story on my childcare center.”
Reggie straightened her spine, leaning toward Jill. “What’s the news?”
“You know, I’ve always had a few students who ride the bus after school, and I just give them a snack and let them play…but I’m making some changes. Miss Betty Jo, my part-time helper, is a retired schoolteacher, and she wants to expand the after-school program and take the school-age kids under her wing. We’ll still offer snacks, but Miss Betty Jo will also supervise homework so parents don’t have to deal with it when they pick up the children.”
Gayle let out a little gasp. “Oh, that’s a great idea.”
“Well, there you go.” Reggie gestured to Gayle. “Looks like Gayle is the eager reporter who will come out and cover your story.”
“M—me? You want me to write the story?” Gayle felt a tightness in her chest.
“Sure,” Reggie said. “You, not being geriatric, will have a different slant on it than the other reporters.”
“That sounds great,” Jill said. “Come tomorrow afternoon and I’ll treat you to a healthy snack. Maybe you can write about the good meals too.” She gave Gayle a wink.
Gayle tried to find words, but there were none. Not good for a wannabe reporter. She nodded furiously.
“I’m sure Gayle will come up with something amazing.” Reggie sat back in her big, cushy, oversized chair.
“Thank you. Thank you. I’ll do a great job.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow at about 1:30 at my center,” Jill said. “You know it? Babes in the Woods?”
“Yes. I’ll see you then.” Gayle tried to contain her glee, but she wanted to squeal.
Jill gathered her purse and left with as much energy as she’d entered with.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Gayle said.
“Just take lots of notes and write a good story. You can bring it to me when you get it done, and I’ll go over it.”
Gayle’s chest felt as though it was full of feathers. “Oh, I was going to see if you could look at the obit I wrote for Miss Kincaid, the lady who worked at the post office.”
“I read it,” Reggie said. “Very nice. Very sensitive. The family will appreciate it.”
Gayle felt as though she was floating as she left Reggie’s office. She thought the obituary was sensitive. Now all Gayle had to do was show up at the day care center and write up a little story about the after-school care. The butterflies in her stomach were flying in formation.
* * *
Frank slept late. He opened his eyes gingerly. Sunlight streamed in through the sheer curtains. He stretched and spread out all over the bed. The mattress wasn’t particularly comfortable, and it was too short for him now.
Somehow, he hadn’t been able to move Aunt Rosie’s personal belongings out of the master bedroom, so he was still sleeping in the room he had occupied as a kid. He felt certain it had been larger back then.
He stared up at the ceiling. It had yellowed with age. There was a brownish stain. Probably the old roof leaked. No telling what else was wrong. This house is a money pit. No matter how many cherished memories he held onto, the truth was that it would cost him dearly to fix the house up, and for what? He had never intended to stay in Rambling. Why should he invest in something he wouldn’t be living in anyway?
Untangling himself from the sheets, he set his feet on the bare wood floor. The worn oak felt cool beneath his feet. He stood and stretched again, scratched his stomach, and headed for the door. He made his way to the bathroom and relieved himself. The porcelain on the claw-foot bathtub was in good shape. He found himself assessing the fixtures with the eye of an owner.
He finished washing up and examined his face in the mirror. He hadn’t shaved the past couple of days and was looking pretty ragged. A haircut was overdue as well.
When he had cleaned himself up and walked back down the hall, he paused beside Aunt Rosie’s door. He twisted the ornate brass knob, darkened with age and lack of care, and stepped inside.
A pang of unaccustomed nostalgia shot through him. The room was filled with the collectibles and bric-a-brac his great-aunt had held dear. Her fragrance filled his senses, and he found himself struggling to keep the tears at bay.
“Sorry, Aunt Rosie,” he said aloud. “Sorry I wasn’t here for you.” He took a deep breath and let it out carefully. With determination he went to the bed and ran his hand over her silken coverlet. He ga
zed at the collection on her bedside table. A lacy crocheted doily was topped with a small gathering of articles: a crystal carafe with a water glass turned upside down to form a lid, an old-fashioned radio, a box of tissues, and a single photograph in a silver frame. The frame held Frank’s school photograph taken in the ninth grade. He wasn’t smiling in the picture, and he could remember why he wasn’t. That had been the day Reggie Lee had dubbed him Franklinstein.
* * *
She saw the silver BMW slide to a soft landing in the parking lot. The eagle has landed.
Don’t be ridiculous! It’s just Frank, my personal nemesis.
She straightened her back and placed her fingers on the keyboard of her laptop. She should look busy…like an editor…like a busy editor.
Must look professional.
I am professional.
But I have to look professional…
She was aware her pulse rate had quickened. Her stomach clenched, and her breathing grew shallow. She gave herself a second to regain focus. I can do this.
All this for Franklinstein?
She jumped when she heard a knock on her door. She tried to speak, but her voice was gravelly. Clearing her throat, she called for the person to come in.
Milton threw the door open and approached her desk. He tossed the mail near her elbow. “Here’s today’s batch. Bigger than usual.” He turned to leave.
“Wait! What is all this?”
“Dear Irene. That’s you now.” He stopped at the door and gave her a half smile. “Enjoy.”
As Milton was leaving, Frank appeared in the open doorway. “What are you enjoying this morning?”
She smiled, flustered. “The Dear Irene mail. I guess we were a hit.”
He placed a cardboard cup from the coffee shop drive-through on her desk. “It’s hot and sweet,” he said. “Like you.”
“Oh, um…” she stammered.
“Lighten up, Reggie. It was just a little humor.”
She took in a breath and let it out slowly. “I knew that.” But they both knew she hadn’t. She flashed a totally insincere grin.
