Silver Bells

by Raney,Deborah

  “Booth, please.” Less likely someone would see them together. She chose a booth at the back of the drugstore and settled in as far as she could without actually hugging the wall.

  Rob slid in across from her and took a long draw on his straw. She did the same, enjoying the sweet cherry-flavored concoction, thankful for the distraction.

  “So what is it you wanted to talk about?”

  “Well, first…I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but I have instructions to keep our relationship strictly professional.”

  “Our relationship?” He motioned between them. “Yours and mine?”

  She nodded.

  “Instructions from whom?” His surprise seemed to be genuine.

  “From your father.”

  “What? You’re kidding, right?”

  “Would I kid about something like that?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve only known you for two weeks. Would you?”

  “No. I would not.”

  “What did he say, exactly?”

  She repeated Mr. Merrick’s words as accurately as she could remember.

  He looked shocked. “Did you say something that made him think you—?”

  “Oh, right. I told him I had designs on you, which was why I took the job in the first place, and that I intended to marry you before the year was up.” She glared at him. “No, I didn’t say anything! What do you think I am, stupid?”

  “Sorry. That was a dumb question.” His eyes narrowed and a faraway look shadowed his pale-blue irises. “But this explains a lot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t need to drag you into this. But I am sorry, Michelle. My dad can be a real pain sometimes.”

  “It can’t be easy, working for your dad.” She suddenly understood why Allen griped so much about working on the farm. And her brother only worked on weekends now that he was away at college. He had a lot more freedom than Rob Merrick did.

  “We make it work,” Rob said. “But then, I didn’t know Dad was warning all the pretty employees away from me.”

  She laughed—and tucked away that “pretty” to ponder later. “I got the impression he was trying to protect you from me, not the other way around.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I don’t need that. I’ll talk to him about it. And I apologize. That was about as unprofessional as it gets.”

  “Please don’t say anything to him, Rob.” She hadn’t meant it to come out sounding so desperate, but she was serious. “I could lose my job if he knew I told you.”

  “I won’t let that happen.” He slid the straw up and down in his Coke. “So what else did you want to talk about?”

  “Huh?” Why hadn’t she just kept her big mouth shut altogether? Because, admit it, Penn—you wanted to spend time with the guy. The thought startled her. And made her wonder whether it was so obvious that Mr. Merrick had deemed his warning justified. The room grew overly warm.

  “You said you had several things you wanted to talk to me about.”

  She had no desire to spill her guts to this man, especially if he was just going to go back to daddy and relay all her complaints. “No, that’s pretty much it.” She took a sip of her Coke, but the glass was empty and her straw made a loud slurping sound. “I just…wanted you to know why I hesitated when you said this was a date.”

  “Well, again…I’m sorry. By the way, good job on the story in last week’s edition.”

  “Yeah, well, speaking of fathers who are a pain…”

  He cocked a questioning eyebrow at her.

  She sighed. Another can of worms she probably shouldn’t have opened. “My dad wasn’t too thrilled with the story. My parents, I should say—except that my mom rarely has an opinion of her own. She just pretty much agrees with whatever my dad thinks.”

  “Why wasn’t your dad thrilled?”

  “He doesn’t think that kind of news should be in the paper.”

  “What kind of news?”

  “Negative news. He thinks a small-town newspaper should be all rainbows and smiley faces and fluffy kittens.”

  He laughed. “Well, yeah, we probably would sell more subscriptions that way.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. And after all, that is what it’s all about, right? Selling more papers?”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “So what did you think about the story?”

  Her jaw dropped. “That’s exactly the question my dad asked me. Except that was his ‘diplomatic’ way”—she chalked quote marks in the air—“of saying he didn’t think much of it.” She told him about the conversation she’d had with her parents. “Dad didn’t like the photo either—no offense. Did you realize the house number was showing in that photo?”

  “So?”

  She shrugged. “It just seems like if we weren’t going to use names, we probably shouldn’t have put the woman’s address, either.”

  “It’s a number, Michelle. There are probably at least fifty other houses in town with that same number. Besides, it’s public record. Anybody who’s dying to know who those people are can walk into the police station and ask to see the report.”

  “I hate to guess what they would have thought about the one you wanted to run.”

  “Do you care?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you really care what your parents think about the article?”

  “Of course I care. They’re my parents.” She studied him. “Don’t you? Care what your dad thinks, I mean?”

  He shrugged, looking uncomfortable that the subject he’d brought up had backfired on him.

  She didn’t know what to say after that, and Rob suddenly seemed in a hurry to leave. “Well…” He pushed his Coke glass aside and started a slow slide out of the booth. “I’d probably better go. I’ve got…stuff to do. Have a good weekend.”

  “Okay. You too. See you Monday.”

  “Right.”

  He dug his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants. “Shall I walk you to your car?”

  “Thanks, but I have some shopping to do first.” As if to prove it, she walked to a nearby display of sunglasses, popped on a pair, and studied herself in the mirror. But through the dark green lenses, she watched his reflection in the tiny rectangular mirror as he left the drugstore. And for the thousandth time, she determined to get a grip on her big mouth.

  Chapter 8

  Rob knocked on the door jamb and waited for his father to look up from his desk. “Sir? Are you busy?”

  “I’m always busy, Robert. And you know what Mondays are like. But come in. What’s up?”

  “Mind if I sit?” Moving a pile of newspapers and magazines from the chair in front of his father’s desk, he plopped into the seat without waiting for an answer.

  “Sure… What’s up?” his father said again, still shuffling papers around on the desktop.

  “I need you to promise me something first.”

  He had Robert Merrick Sr’s attention now. “Well, now, you know how I feel about promises.”

  Did he ever. He bit his tongue. “I’m serious, Dad. I need your assurance that what I ask you won’t—affect anybody’s job here.”

  His father took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What’s going on? You can talk to me, Rob.”

  It wasn’t a promise, but it would have to do. He looked into his father’s eyes—ice-blue eyes he’d been told were identical to his own. “Did you tell a certain employee to stay away from me?”

  His dad actually laughed. “I have a pretty good idea what this is about—who this is about. But for your information, I tell all our employees of a certain gender to stay away from you.”

  “Dad!”

  “Robert, do you have any idea how many women come in here to apply for a job just so they can get a glimpse of you?”

  Had the man lost his last marble? “What are you talking about?”

  “Surely I don’t have to tell you that half the women in this town would give their two fr
ont teeth for a chance to go on a date with Rob Merrick. I’m just trying to ensure that the ones I actually hire are here to do their job, not to make goo-goo eyes at the second-in-command.”

  “Not to change the subject, but since when am I second-in-command? If I’d known that, I would have given myself a longer vacation. And a hefty raise…”

  His attempt at humor fell flat.

  “I use that term only because someday you’ll be running this company. For now, you work your way up the ladder like I did. But back to the subject at hand—if my guess is correct and Miss Penn is the tattletale, that would indicate that she’s chosen to ignore the conditions of her employment. Perhaps I should have a word with—”

  “No, Dad! She didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, the only reason she said anything is because I asked her for a date.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “And she turned me down.”

  “You asked her for a date? Now, why would you go and do that? You know how I feel about that sort of thing. We have a policy. Surely that thing with Joy Swanson should have been enough to—”

  “Dad. I didn’t want to come back to work here in the first place, but I did, and I admit, I’ve enjoyed it. A lot. I appreciate your giving me a great job right out of college, and I know I’m getting training that will serve me well for the rest of my career no matter where I go.” He was trying to cover all the arguments they’d been through a hundred times so his father wouldn’t have to make them again. “But if working here means I can’t date who I want to date, or that you’re going to make my friends feel threatened for even being seen in public with me, then I think it’s time I found something else to—”

  “Now, hang on, hang on.” His father raised a hand. “There’s nothing that says you can’t fraternize with the employees. But it wouldn’t matter whether I was your father or your boss—nothing good can come of having an interoffice fling.”

  “What if it was more than a fling?”

  The look on Dad’s face told him he’d given the wrong impression. Fling must mean something more to his father’s generation. “That didn’t come out right. I just meant, what if I really cared about one of the employees? What if I thought she might be someone I wanted to get to know better?”

  “That’s exactly my point, Robert. You can’t possibly know Michelle Penn well enough to have made that kind of a decision.”

  “How long did you know Mom before you asked her out?” Rob wasn’t playing fair. He knew the answer to that question.

  “You know very well how long. But we’re not talking about that.”

  No, Dad, God forbid we should ever talk about Mom. “Still, do you see my point?”

  “And do you see mine?”

  “No. I don’t. I’m twenty-four years old. I really don’t think I need my old man telling me—”

  “Robert. That’s disrespectful.”

  “Sorry.” He backtracked before his dad could launch into a lecture. “I don’t need my father telling me who I can and cannot ask out on a perfectly innocent date.”

  “Perfectly innocent until one of you falls in love. Not to beat a dead horse, but let’s not forget the Joy Swanson incident.”

  “You won’t let me forget. Besides, that turned out fine.”

  “Says you. Joy may have a different opinion.”

  “She still works here, doesn’t she? And so do I. And we get along just fine.”

  His dad’s features softened. “Believe me, son, I know what I’m talking about. And not just because of the thing with Joy. There’s a reason for these rules. Things can get extremely complicated. Even your mother would have admitted to that.”

  “Well, she would have known.” His parents had met when they worked for the same news agency back in the forties, though his father never talked about it.

  “And she would have given you the same advice I’m giving you.”

  Rob swallowed hard. It was the closest his father had come to talking about Mom since…since a day he suspected they both wanted to wipe off the face of the calendar.

  * * *

  Michelle pulled out her calculator and did a quick tally of the groceries in her cart. If she put the cookies back, she’d have enough. She ate too many sweets anyway. And if she really got hungry for cookies, she could go out to the farm and bake some with Mom.

  She sighed at the thought of the farm. She’d talked to her mom on the phone a couple of times, but she hadn’t been out to see her folks since the night they’d raked her over the coals about her first byline. Well, maybe “raked over the coals” was a bit of an exaggeration, but she sure hadn’t received the praise she’d expected.

  When she’d called her mother about mailing her Social Security card, Mom acted as if nothing had happened. Her mother had enclosed a short note in the envelope with the card and had made no mention of their discussion about the article in the paper.

  This week’s edition of the Beacon had nothing controversial in it as far as Michelle knew, and being the opening-game football issue, there wasn’t room for any real news anyway. She smiled to herself, filing away that line to use on Rob Merrick the first chance she got.

  She replaced the package of cookies on the shelf and headed for the produce section. Two heads of lettuce, a bag of apples, and a bunch of seedless grapes later, she inventoried her cart with satisfaction. Mom would be proud of her choices. Now, if she could just remember to eat all this healthy food before it went bad.

  She was finding it challenging to cook for one. She was a good cook, but she’d grown up cooking for her family, a crew of Dad’s hired men, and her 4-H club. With math not being her strong suit, it was hard to divide a recipe into sixths.

  She put one head of lettuce back in the produce bin and started for the checkout. Rounding the corner, she almost ran into a woman with a shopping basket over one arm and a toddler in the other.

  She took in a sharp breath. It was the little jet-haired girl from Rob’s photographs. The battered woman from her news story.

  “I’m so sorry,” Michelle said, wondering if the woman would recognize her.

  The woman gave her an anemic smile. “It’s okay.” Her face was no longer swollen, but her fair skin still bore the green-and-yellow mottling of fading bruises. She dipped her head, letting her straight, mousy-brown hair conceal her face, as if she could hide the evidence.

  “I should watch where I’m going. Sorry,” Michelle said again.

  The woman hitched the little girl up on her hip and eyed Michelle. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “Yes…I do remember.” Michelle absently rubbed her own eyebrow in sympathy. “I was there with the Beacon.”

  “No, I mean before that.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I was Becky Brannon. Before I became Becky Preston. I was a year behind you in school, but I sat right behind you in choir my junior year. With the altos…? You’re Dan and Beth Penn’s daughter, right?”

  “Yes. But I—” Michelle squinted and studied her, trying—and failing—to see the Becky she remembered only vaguely from high school. “I’m sorry. That day…I didn’t realize we knew each other from before.”

  “It’s okay. You were one of the popular girls. I wouldn’t expect you to remember. But you were always nice to me. Not everyone was.” She looked away, as if the memory embarrassed her.

  Trying to ease the awkward moment, Michelle reached out and tugged at the hem of the little girl’s sundress. “That’s a pretty pink dress you’re wearing, sweetie.”

  The toddler stuck a thumb in her mouth and buried her head in her mother’s shoulder. But Becky smiled. “Can you tell Michelle ‘Thank-you’?”

  The tiny girl mumbled something that her mother let pass as “Thanks.”

  “What’s her name? She’s beautiful.”

  “Eden Crystal.” Pride swelled Becky’s voice. “She just turned two.”

  “She’s adorable. Well…” Michelle gave her cart a little push. “I’d better finish my shopping.�
�� But before she’d gone ten feet, something made her turn back.

  Becky was still standing there, watching her.

  Michelle rolled the cart back to where she was standing. “Are you doing okay? Since…the other day?”

  “We’re all right.” Becky looked at the floor. “He—He’s still in jail.”

  “I’m sorry.” She looked at the same tile on the floor that Becky’s eyes seemed glued to. “Do you need anything? Money or…anything?” Why was she even asking a question like that? She’d be doing well to pay her own rent this month. Still, something made her ask.

  “We get by. His mother helps a little.”

  “Do I know him? Your husband, I mean?” She couldn’t remember anyone named Preston at Bristol High. But then, she hadn’t remembered Becky Brannon either. Not really. Had she really been that isolated and self-centered in high school? How had she not been aware that this kind of stuff was happening—even in tiny Bristol?

  Becky shook her head. “I met him in Florida. One of those spring-break flings. Big mistake.”

  Colossal mistake. But Michelle only said, again, “I’m sorry.”

  “Listen, there is something you could do.”

  “Okay…” Michelle was suddenly sorry she’d offered. It would be just like God to see that she made good on it.

  “That guy from the paper—the one who took all the pictures?”

  “Rob.”

  She shrugged. “I guess. I don’t remember that day too good, but I think maybe he got pictures of Eden.”

  Michelle held her breath.

  “I don’t want those floating around,” Becky said. “Or…coming back to haunt Eden. Can you tell him? The photographer? Or maybe get the pictures back from him?”

  “Do you want the pictures?” She regretted giving her the option as soon as the words were out.

  Becky closed her eyes, and Michelle could almost see her remembering the pain of that day. “No,” she said finally. “I just don’t want anybody else to see them.”

  Michelle touched the soft cotton of Eden Crystal’s dress, feeling somehow that she was touching Becky when she did. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ve only worked at the paper a couple of weeks, but I’ll do my best.”