“Ha ha. Very funny.”
He studied her briefly. “You know I’m just kidding, right? You’ve got a really great voice.”
Heat crept up her neck and flushed her cheeks.
He gave the volume knob another twist to the right and they rode without speaking for the next few minutes. But when Neil Diamond’s “Cracklin’ Rosie” came on, she couldn’t help it. She had to sing along.
He gave her an I-told-you-so look, which she ignored.
The song ended as they pulled into the small stadium’s parking lot. Suddenly her nerves kicked in. “Now what exactly is it I’m supposed to help you with?” she said.
“You can keep stats while I take pictures.”
“You do remember that I know next to nothing about football.”
“Okay, then you can haul equipment while I keep stats and take pictures, and if I decide I need the tripod for a few shots, you can come back to the car and get that for me.”
“So basically I’m a pack mule.”
“You said it, not me.” Laughing, he jumped out of the car before she could smack him.
She was relieved they’d found their easy way with each other again. But her mind was working to come up with a way to find out why he’d reacted like that when she’d teased him about being spoiled.
And she wasn’t altogether sure she wanted to know.
Chapter 11
Rob could read the scoreboard from the parking lot. Six minutes left in the first half and Bristol was up 14–7. Great. He shook his head. He’d already missed two touchdown photos.
He’d parked as close as he could in the already-crowded parking lot, but they had a hike to get to the sidelines. He grabbed his camera bag from the backseat. “Come on. Follow me!”
He heard Michelle huffing to keep up with him as they scrambled up the berm near the visitors’ goal. The breeze held the faintest hint of fall, and the air was charged with the freshness of a new school year. He remembered and wondered how it was possible that six autumns had passed since he was on the field in pads and helmet.
“Are you sneaking in?”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “What do you mean?”
She pointed down to the stadium entrance. “Don’t we need tickets?”
He patted his hip pocket where his wallet was. “What do you think your press pass is for? If anyone says anything, just show them.”
“I don’t have a press pass. No one ever gave me one.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll talk to Dad on Monday. You should have one. But don’t worry. I don’t think they’re going to throw us in jail in the big city of Pretty Prairie. If anyone says anything, let me do the talking.”
He walked along the sideline and staked out a spot near the Bears’ bench where he could get some candid shots. But when he saw quarterback J. D. Baker sitting lengthwise on the bench, his right leg stretched out and the trainer working it over, his hopes fled. A photo of the senior quarterback icing an injury instead of tossing a touchdown pass in the season opener would be enough for some Bristol fans to cancel subscriptions.
Maybe he’d luck out and the Bears would make another touchdown…but he wouldn’t hold his breath.
He handed Michelle his backpack. She took it, looking as nervous as she had that day they’d covered the domestic altercation at the house on Donner Avenue. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Just tell me what to do.”
“Stick with me. You’ll be fine. I just hope we get something we can use.”
Rob uncapped his camera lens and focused on the field. If the injury shut them out and he didn’t have one touchdown pass to plaster on the front page, his name was going to be mud. With the whole town—but more importantly, with his boss.
More and more he was having second thoughts about working for his father. Dad had promised they’d have a “professional relationship” inside the walls of the Beacon. But that was easier said than done. The fact that he’d had to finagle a way to invite Michelle to the game that would meet with dear old Dad’s approval should have told him something.
He snapped a couple of boring shots and sent up a prayer that God could grant him one front-page-worthy photo before the night was over. Just one good shot, Lord…please. He felt a little guilty, praying about something so trivial, when soldiers were dying in Nam and children were starving in China.
A memory came suddenly. He was five or six and he’d come upon a fallen nest on the lawn. A pathetic, featherless fledgling had spilled out of it. He could still remember how he’d felt, watching that bird struggle. He’d run into the house crying and dragged his mother outside to show her. “Pray for him, Mama. Pray.”
His mother had knelt right there and prayed, then she’d scooped the little bird back into its nest and propped the nest into a crook of a limb, far enough out that Bitsy, their cat, couldn’t get to it. His mom had taken Rob into her arms and sung a song about a sparrow and God’s eye watching that little bird, just as it watched Robbie Merrick.
He realized now that the bird hadn’t stood a chance. And he’d always wondered whether Mom really believed God cared about some stupid bird.
He shook off the disturbing thought, angry that he seemed to have no control over the way such thoughts rammed into him at random moments and always left him feeling a little disoriented.
“Am I supposed to be writing something down?” Michelle stood at his shoulder with her notepad and pen in hand, unaware that she’d rescued him.
“Don’t worry about it. I can get the stats from the press box after the game.” It was the way he’d always written sports stories. His memory provided the play-by-play. The stats just confirmed that he’d remembered accurately.
“Wait a minute…” She propped her free hand on her hip. “I thought that’s why you dragged me along.”
“No, remember? I dragged you along to be my pack mule.”
“Oh, yeah. How soon I forget.”
He laughed, happy she was here with him. Happy he’d have such a pleasant distraction on the drive home.
* * *
By the time the game was over, the air had grown crisp. They stopped by the concession stand on the way back to the parking lot, taking advantage of half-price hot dogs.
Michelle paid while Rob was in the restroom. If he didn’t offer to reimburse her, she’d put it on her expense report.
They downed hot dogs and Cokes as they wound their way through the parking lot to Rob’s car. By the time they were on the road toward home, she was happy for the warmth of the heater. She rubbed her hands in front of the vent, laughing at Rob’s lament over the Bears’ loss.
“Laugh all you want, but when I put a photo of the guys lined up on the sidelines, it won’t be funny.”
“Maybe you’ll have to break down and publish a photo people will actually be interested in seeing on the front page.”
“You just wait till the letters to the editor start flooding in. Then you’ll see how much people love seeing sports on the front page.”
“People? Don’t you mean men?”
“That’s what I said. People.”
She glared at him, but she couldn’t actually be annoyed when he looked so cute with that scowl on his handsome face.
He gripped the steering wheel with his left hand and looked over at her. “You’re a hard one to figure out, you know that?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t like hard-hitting social issues on the front page, but you don’t like fast-paced sports on the front page either. Just what would you like to see there?”
“I’ll tell you exactly what. A picture of kids playing in the park or a story about Mrs. Beakman or maybe a—”
“Who?”
“Harriet Beakman. She’s been the head librarian at the public library for as long as anyone can remember. Or how about the new slide at the swimming pool? But not just a picture of the slide. Make sure somebody’s kids are on it. Smiling.”
He laughed. “
So in other words, rainbows and smiley faces and fluffy kittens?”
She stopped short, recognizing the exact phrase she’d used when she told him how unhappy her parents were with the story about Becky Preston being on the front page. But they were right, and suddenly an idea came. “Tell you what, Rob Merrick. I’ll make you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“You get to decide what goes on the front page, right?”
“Within reason.” He cocked his head, looking wary.
“Okay…you let me choose the front-page photo and story every week for the next month, and if you don’t get at least twenty new subscriptions during that time, I’ll…” She scrambled to think of a fitting punishment.
“I know. You’ll go to dinner with me without my having to pretend it’s for work.”
“What?” Was he implying what she thought he was implying? This was not what she considered punishment, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.
“Yes. I confess, I didn’t really need you tonight. I just knew it was the only way to get you to go out with me.”
“Excuse me, but you might want to rethink what you just said.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I believe it was the only way to get me to go out with you. But you most certainly did need me tonight.”
“Huh?”
“You’d still be sitting on the side of the road if I hadn’t been along to change that tire.” She looked out the window just as they passed the exit sign for Hutchinson. She pointed behind her. “And, hey, don’t miss your turn. You owe me Dairy Queen.”
“What? You just ate!”
“I didn’t have dessert.”
“You’re sitting over there shivering and you want ice cream?”
“You can turn up the heater.”
He snickered, but he pumped the brakes and eased onto the exit ramp as if that had been his intention all along.
Chapter 12
“I’m waiting on that front page, Penn.” Rob’s head bobbed over the wall that separated their cubicles. “Don’t disappoint me.”
“Don’t you worry, Merrick. I’ve got everything under control. You just save me a three-by-five spot above the fold and mind your own business.”
It was Monday afternoon and Michelle still hadn’t come up with a front-page photo she could be certain would garner new subscribers. The front page was typically the last one they laid out on Wednesday before they sent the paper to the printer, so she still had a little time. She’d heard Rob tell his father he had it under control, but she was starting to get nervous. This was going to be harder than she’d thought.
She’d spent the weekend wandering around town looking for subject matter, and she did end up with some cute photographs of kids playing at the park and one of the final day the public swimming pool was open. But those were both pretty cliché. And cliché was the last thing she wanted. She didn’t just want to wow Beacon subscribers—she wanted to wow Rob Merrick. If by some miracle she could wow his father too, so much the better.
On Friday night, she and Rob had sat in the Dairy Queen for two hours, talking and laughing over ice cream cones and giving each other a hard time over the flat tire and missed photos. She liked the guy. A lot. And if she could find a way around his father’s stupid rule about “fraternizing,” she would go out with Rob in a heartbeat.
I need an idea, Lord, and time’s running out. She’d taken to shooting up little prayers whenever work presented a challenge—which was turning out to be several times a day. After three weeks, she was feeling more comfortable in her job, but it seemed there was always something new she had yet to learn.
A familiar cacophony on the street outside the office drew her from her cubicle to the front windows. The ice cream truck was still running its route? She looked at the clock. Of course. School was just getting out. Smart driver. And maybe an answer to the prayer that had barely left her lips.
She ran back to her desk, grabbed her camera, and looped the strap over her neck. She just might have her front-page photo. Thank you, Lord.
Rob came to the doorway of his cubicle. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll be right back.” She felt his eyes on her, but she wasn’t about to tell him her idea.
She went out the back door and trotted down the alley to the side street, where the ice cream truck had just pulled over. Already, schoolchildren with backpacks were gathering, and doors of houses flew open up and down the street as the ice cream truck parked and set up shop along the brick avenue in the old Brunswick development. That thought gave her an idea for a caption, and she began composing in her head even as she tweaked the camera’s settings and put it to her eye. She loved what she saw through the viewfinder and fired off a dozen shots in succession. If only the paper printed in color.
A little girl in line with her big sister reminded Michelle of Eden, Becky Preston’s daughter. Did Eden ever get to enjoy treats like ice cream from the truck on a hot summer’s day? She had a feeling three square meals were a treat at their house. She’d thought of Becky and Eden often since that day she’d run into them in the grocery store and wondered if Eden’s father was still in the picture.
When the line of children and mothers with babies in tow thinned, she took a few close-ups and jotted down names. One of the young mothers offered her phone number in case they needed to clarify any information. Michelle thanked her, but if the first few shots she’d taken from down the street turned out, she wouldn’t need names.
The September air had grown warm. Watching the driver hand out frozen treats, she wished she’d brought her purse. Remembering that she’d worn the same sweater to the game on Friday night with Rob, she dug into the pocket. Sure enough, her change from the concession stand was there. She retrieved two dollar bills and smoothed them out.
“Two Eskimo Pies, please,” she told the elderly driver. While he made change, she asked him a few questions about his route and found out he’d be making his rounds in surrounding towns for a few more days before cooler weather shut him down.
He handed her the foil-wrapped delicacies and she paid him. Tucking her camera inside her jacket, she jogged back to the office, hoping the pies weren’t a leaky mess by the time she got there.
Curbing a smile, she went back to her cubicle but handed an Eskimo Pie to Rob over the partition. “Not only do I have your front-page photo, but I got you a little treat besides.”
His eyes lit up. “Hey, my favorite. How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
He tore open the wrapper and took a huge bite. Satisfied, she went to her desk and did the same. While she ate, she worked hunt-and-peck style on the Selectric to type out the caption she’d come up with. She read it several times, tweaking the wording as she went: “Children line up along Hamlin Street in Bristol’s Brunswick development Monday afternoon for the “Pied Piper” of ice cream. The neighborhood near Main Street hosted an impromptu end-of-summer celebration when the ice cream truck made what will no doubt be one of it’s last rounds of the season.”
She read the caption and smiled. It was a small blurb, but people probably had no idea how long it sometimes took writers to come up with something clever and unique. She was proud of her caption. Now to hit the darkroom and see if she’d gotten a photo worthy of it.
She got a Coke from the vending machine in the break room then took her camera to the darkroom. The smell of the developer chemicals had become as familiar as the cleaning supplies she used in her apartment. She was just getting everything lined up and measuring chemicals into the trays when someone knocked on the door.
“Michelle?” It was Rob.
“You big snoop! What do you want?” But she couldn’t help but laugh.
“You need help?”
“I think I can figure it out.” She’d watched him develop film each week now, and last week he’d let her do most of it herself. But since she hadn’t taken the film out of her camera yet, she decided to let him
in. It wouldn’t be good to ruin her first shot at the front page just because she was too stubborn to accept his help. Besides, as much as she tried not to think about it, the guy was growing on her.
She opened the door a crack and peeked out.
His eyes grew round. “You didn’t take the film out yet, did you?”
“I’m not that stupid.”
“Don’t forget to rewind it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Thanks for reminding me.” A few days ago she’d forgotten to rewind the film before taking it out of the camera and ruined a whole roll.
Poking her head out into the newsroom where he stood, she flipped the switch that turned on the red light over the door, signaling that film was being developed and no one was to open the door. She flashed a smile. “Come in if you want. And prepare to be impressed.”
* * *
Rob rolled his eyes but took Michelle up on the invitation and stepped into the darkroom with her. The scent of her filled the room—a heavenly baby-powder-and-lemonade fragrance that made him want to nuzzle her neck.
He blew out a breath and tried to gather his wits. It didn’t help that the room was dark and she was so close he could almost feel her steady breathing.
She closed the door, went to the counter, and opened her camera. “Okay, do not open that door. I’m taking out what may very well be a masterpiece.”
“What’d you do, shoot a tornado?”
“Is that what it would take to make you think I scooped your quarterback photo?”
He smiled in the dark at her use of the word “scooped” but let it go and leaned against the counter behind her, watching her work. He felt a little guilty, knowing she didn’t really need his help in the darkroom any more. But he was curious to get a glimpse of the photos she was bragging on before she’d even seen them.
Silver Bells Page 7
