Exchange

by CF Frizzell

  “Hi, you.”

  Shay took it as she rounded the desk. “Hi, honey.” She kissed her cheek and Mel felt the color rise in her face. “Look who I found wandering the streets.”

  Mel nodded at Tommy. “Fancy seeing you in our neighborhood, Mr. Rogers.”

  Blocking the inner doorway, Mike stood shaking the hand of someone she couldn’t see. It appeared there were now three men beyond him, and when he finally stepped aside, Mel’s mouth opened in silent surprise.

  Dick Turner and Garret Nelson offered humble smiles as they entered her office, and elderly butcher Eli Winston followed.

  “Gentlemen. Good morning.” Winston shuffled forward and Mike hurriedly provided the guest chair. “Mr. Winston. It’s lovely to see you.”

  “You, too, dear girl.” He settled in and Tommy handed him a rumpled collection of papers.

  “Eli has some business for the Chronicle, Mel.”

  “Oh?” She looked to Winston and then the others. “And you’re…?”

  “We’re with him on this,” Turner said, and looked at Shay. “We all are.”

  Tommy grinned and crossed his arms.

  Nelson concurred quickly. “We are.”

  Mel cast Shay a glance before leaning over her desk toward Winston. “It must be serious business, if you’ve rounded up this impressive escort.”

  “That it is.” Never one to be rushed, he removed his spectacles, wiped them on his shirt, and methodically wrapped the wire stems back around his ears. He flattened the papers across his thigh, pressing his palm over the creases as if to iron out the wrinkles, and, at last, handed her the fourteen stapled pages.

  “Want all that in a full-page ad.”

  With a hand on her desk to steady herself, Mel read the opening paragraph of what amounted to a letter of support—for her and the Chronicle under her editorship. She quickly flipped to each subsequent page. They were filled with signatures. Hundreds of them she knew and didn’t, of those who held town, county, and state positions, of those in civic organizations, of ranchers, farmers, business owners—all her advertisers, it seemed—and of those readers she had and hadn’t met.

  She sat down hard. “Wow.”

  “Mel?” Mike asked, sounding afraid to know what she’d read.

  She handed him the papers. “I can’t believe this.” She sent Winston a sly look. “Are you the mastermind here?”

  “No sense in everybody whining and complaining and never doing nothing about it. I put a paper on my counter a while back and told folks to put their names down if their yapping meant something. Got to put your money where your mouth is, y’know? You putting this in the paper might help this damn town see the light of day. And you deserve to see that you’ve made a difference.”

  Mel bit her lower lip. No more tears. Shay gave her shoulders a squeeze.

  Camera now at the ready, Mike put the papers back in Mel’s hands and waved her to stand among Nelson, Turner, and Winston. Somehow, Mel found herself properly positioned and heard Mike take the shot.

  “Now, Mel,” Winston kept on, “I want a big spread. These fellows here, they know about advertising big.” Mel eyed Turner and Nelson, wondering how their ad dollars were serving them in the Tribune, wondering if they squirmed at the sight of Shay by her side.

  “Yes, sir, that they do.”

  “Uh-huh. So they’re gonna make sure this is done up big. From the top of that first sheet to the very last name.” He jerked his thumb at Nelson. “Mr. Home Depot here has the cash to cover it.” He maneuvered in the chair to look up. “Hand over that envelope, Garret. Quit wasting the lady’s time, not to mention mine.”

  Mel stifled a grin as Nelson scrambled to do Winston’s bidding. He handed her an envelope stuffed with bills of every small denomination.

  “Ah, that should meet your full-page price, Mel,” Turner said. “The non-contract price. No artwork worries, so should be easy.”

  “Should one of us come by to proofread, say tomorrow night?” Nelson’s sudden acquiescence surprised her, but his eagerness to point out errors just rubbed her the wrong way.

  “If you’d like, of course, but I guarantee you, gentlemen, we’ll do our best.”

  They all nodded and took Winston rising from the chair as their cue to leave.

  Turner stepped forward and offered a handshake.

  “I-I’m sad that this…I’m sorry for your loss. The end of the Chronicle in the family feels like…Well, I know how much it’s meant to you. It’s always been a pleasure, Mel.”

  “Same here, Mel,” Nelson said. He shook her hand. “I’m sure you’ll find bigger and better.”

  Shocked by their gesture yet glad when they left, Mel had the urge to wash their traitorous touch from her hand.

  “Mel?” Winston said. He worked himself up to his full height and knocked on her desk severely. “I’m pretty damn mad about all this, you should know. Mighty hard to sit still.”

  She slid a palm across Shay’s back as she stepped around her, and then Tommy, to get to Winston. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart,” she said, gently gripping his arms. “You are what Tomson is really all about and I am proud to know you, someone who fights for what matters.”

  “Look who’s talking, young lady.” A corner of his mouth rose with satisfaction and Mel almost broke down.

  “Mr. Winston, I have never been so honored. Thank you for being such a special man.” She hugged him as tightly as she dared and kissed his scruffy cheek.

  “You’re welcome,” he mumbled toward his shoes, and began his shuffle out. Mike hustled ahead and opened the door.

  Mel turned and stared at the papers on her desk, the envelope of cash. She looked at Tommy, and then Shay.

  “Did you know he got everyone to do this? Them, especially?”

  “I didn’t have a clue until this morning. I was telling Tommy about buying Sonny’s and he only said we had to be here at eleven.”

  “I just don’t believe it.” She queried Tommy. “Do you?”

  “That Winston’s still got the nuts to make those two jump? You bet I do.”

  “That you and the Chronicle are being saluted in style?” Shay asked. “Thank God. You so deserve it.” She wrapped an arm around Mel’s waist. “I’m so glad it’s being done publicly. Your father will never show his face in this town again, once he knows all these people see him for what he really is.” She picked up the papers. “Here. Take a good look at all the people who signed for you and the Chronicle.”

  “I took a sheet to the office,” Tommy said, leaning both hands on Mel’s desk, watching her read, “and I think everybody at the Five Star signed.”

  Mel inhaled sharply. “Oh, my God! Della signed!”

  “I couldn’t wait to see your face,” Tommy said. “No offense to you personally, Mel, but she knows the best advertising deal when she sees it. Everyone knows the Trib is expensive and doesn’t have half your circulation. You’re a pain in her ass, but the Chronicle’s the best bang for her buck. No way she wants the paper to go to the Trib.”

  Mel wandered back to her chair and sat. She dropped the papers on her blotter and stared at them, until Shay scooped them up.

  “I can’t wait to see this in print.” Shay grinned at Tommy. “What a statement this makes. Listen.

  “To the editor: The following residents of Tomson wish to express our sincere objection to the decision of owner Robert Baker to sell our town newspaper, the Tomson Chronicle, to one in a distant city and thereby deprive us of the informative, helpful, and necessary media outlet available here for generations. The Tomson Chronicle is and has always been vital to our community. It is an integral part of our town with a proud heritage. Closing the doors on a Tomson family institution not only dishonors its founders, but weakens a cornerstone of our town for present and future generations.”

  Shay looked dazed. “Whoever put this together deserves a medal.” She stole a sip of Mel’s coffee and kept reading.

  “Additionally, we voice ou
r deepest disappointment at the departure of Tomson Chronicle editor Melissa Baker, who has served townspeople tirelessly during her six years. Every town organization, department, and business has benefited by her professionalism and her dedication to family. Removing her from her key role subtracts one more precious element of Tomson we cannot afford to lose in these ever-changing times, and therefore, we believe it to be an ill-thought action, detrimental to the town and its residents.

  “We hereby record both our opposition to these decisions by owner Robert Baker, and our endorsement of the Tomson Chronicle and its editor, Melissa Baker.”

  *

  “I expect one of the attorneys will let us know when the ink is dry, probably before noon,” Mel said, her voice a lifeless drone as her personal files transferred to an external hard drive.

  She checked her watch again, wondering how she’d made it to Friday, through days wherein every routine step dredged up precious memories. Chronicle assets were being signed away at that moment in Billings, but she refused to leave six years of achievements to rot under some figurehead editor.

  Mike scanned his empty desk, the packed boxes by the inner doorway. When the front door jingled open, the scent of flowers from consoling readers wafted through the room on the incoming breeze. It overpowered the coffee aroma from the urn Marie had brought from the diner.

  Mike glanced at the clock again. “S’pose I should take the bells off the door.”

  Saying “hello” in passing, Ida went to Mel’s desk and the assortment of cookies, brownies, and breads sent by townspeople, and the fragrant bouquet of crimson roses.

  “Wow, Mel, these are spectacular. Shay?”

  Mel nodded. “Sam was waiting at the door when I arrived to open up. He said he had ‘penalty of death’ orders to deliver first thing.”

  Ida patted her hand and turned in place, inspecting the emptiness of the office, the missing pieces, and the many flowers and plants.

  “So many lovely arrangements. Those two on the front counter are beautiful and these are gorgeous in the window, but the place is starting to look like a funeral parlor.”

  “I was thinking hospital room. You’re more accurate.” She watched Mike drop the leather strip of bells into an open box, and the significance of the gesture struck her painfully.

  Ida tipped up Mel’s chin. “If you start, I’ll start. No telling who’ll show up today, so let’s not ruin our faces.”

  The next few hours passed in a haze for Mel, who set herself on autopilot to handle the steady stream of visitors. Ida jumped into hostess mode and established the coffee urn on the front counter, along with all the confections, and Mel was grateful. Having kept a close eye on the clock all morning, wondering about the progress of the sale and when that call would come, she finally was able to lose track of time. After two thirty, however, the periods of quiet grew longer and heavier.

  Ida sighed and leaned against the inner door frame. “Well, at least it felt more like a bon voyage reception. And now a lot of the goodies are gone, so they won’t end up on my thighs.”

  “Thank you, Ida. You’re a peach.”

  “Can’t say it was easy, and I damn sure wish it wasn’t necessary.”

  Mike emerged from his workroom and flopped into his chair. “So, seriously, how long do you think they’ll keep the Chronicle afloat?”

  “No clue,” Mel said. “Maybe they’ll see how advertising goes through the holidays. Or maybe they’ll wait to evaluate the Heights advertising, like into the spring.”

  “Or maybe not,” he mumbled.

  “They’re just going to fill our pages with canned crap and articles from the Trib that nobody here cares about,” Ida added as she swept the outer office. “Before you know it, the advertising will drop to a minimum, and bye-bye.”

  Mel stared down at her bare desk, knowing Ida most likely was right.

  “Short of locking the doors here,” Mike said, “that’s their cheapest out. I think we can guess what they’ll do.” He pulled a battered envelope from his hip pocket. “I, ah, I have an interview on Monday with the Frontier News.”

  Mel sat back and forced a smile past her aching heart. “In Cascade? Mike, that’s big. You’ll be great on a daily.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a long shot and it would mean moving. It’s only thirty hours a week, but they pay a little more, so I might be able to swing it.”

  She already missed his optimism and eager spirit. Jesus, this sucks.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “Shouldn’t the attorney have called by now, Mel? It’s four thirty.”

  She looked from Mike to the clock, which now lay on her desk. “Yeah, I’d have thought—”

  The door swung open and Shay stepped in and stopped abruptly, looking up for the bells. She shook her head and strode directly to where Mel sat, barely acknowledging Ida and Mike.

  “Shay?”

  The look on her face was hard to decipher, concerned, maybe, and Mel could only watch as Shay took her by the shoulders and urged her to stand.

  “Shay, what—”

  Shay cupped her face and kissed her. Deeply. Back against the wall, deeply. Mel’s mind whirled. She envisioned something tragic Shay couldn’t verbalize, imagined Shay was making a quasi-public statement about their love, wondered what Ida and Mike thought of this display. And Shay wasn’t stopping. Her kiss was firm, hungry, consuming. She slid her arms around Mel’s waist and practically lifted her off the floor.

  Mel seized Shay’s shoulders, tried to ease her back, but that familiar comfort, pressed against her full length, so perfect and so welcome, especially today, won out. She encircled Shay’s neck and responded in kind.

  It took Ida’s giggle to distract them. Shay lifted her head and her eyes glowed.

  “I love you, Mel.”

  “I love you, Shay.” She fingered Shay’s mussed hair away from her face. “And thank you for my roses. They’re fantastic. What’s gotten into you?”

  Ida giggled again, Mike snorted, and Shay backed up just as the door opened again.

  Mel sighed. Timing is everything. She looked around Shay’s shoulder to see their newest visitor and hurriedly straightened her blouse before Shay stepped aside.

  “Mr. Brennan,” she said, moving to greet the Commerce Bank manager with a handshake. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”

  “Very nice seeing you, Melissa.” He nodded to Ida and Mike and fidgeted with his tie as he gave Shay an extra beat of attention. “It’s been a while.”

  “Too long,” Mel said and recalled her winter meeting with him about advertising. Her father had met with him a month ago. “We still have some cookies, if you have a moment. We’re, well, this being our last day, folks have been very kind.”

  He helped himself to a cookie off the platter Ida extended and sat in Mel’s guest chair.

  “Thank you for stopping by,” she said. “Seeing everyone today has been heartwarming.”

  “I’m not surprised by people’s reaction, Melissa. You’re an important part of Tomson. I’ve never known a community to respond the way this one has. That full-page advertisement with the hundreds of signatures—”

  “Eight-hundred-and-sixty-three of them,” Mike boasted.

  Brennan nodded as he chewed. “And the biggest names in town among them. Truly remarkable, but actually, not surprising.”

  Certainly a surprise to me.

  Brennan wiped his mouth with a napkin. “And that’s what I told your father.”

  “Excuse me? You spoke with my father?”

  “Last night. At length. Twice, in fact.” He shook his head. “Long as I’ve known Bob, he’s never changed. And never admits when he’s wrong.”

  “Sounds like Dad.”

  “Well, last night we ended up arguing over this situation you’ve got here. Not that arguing is unusual for us. Hell, every conversation we have includes at least one.” He chuckled at that. “I had him so frustrated he hung up. So I let him cool off a bit and called back, ha
d your mother get him to the phone.”

  “Well.” Mel struggled to imagine her father discussing his “shameful” nightmare any further. “I…That’s so thoughtful of you. Thank you for the support, but I’m not surprised he—”

  Brennan held up a hand. “For once in his life, he had to wise up. I told him I’m not the only one thinking he’s a pigheaded ass. I told him to check his email right away and we’d talk in the morning—when he came to his senses.”

  “Wow. I appreciate your gesture, Mr. Brennan. God knows I do. I’m sorry that Dad’s just blind to reason. He’s always been that way.”

  “Melissa. Your father canceled the sale of the Chronicle. I’m here to notify you that he transferred full ownership of it to you, effective immediately.”

  She stopped breathing. “He what?” Her hands went to her face in shock.

  Ida screamed and burst into tears. Mike cheered and called Robert Baker several creative names. Shay literally hoisted Mel from her seat and hugged her.

  Mel squeezed Shay’s shoulders with all her strength. She sucked in a breath so deeply she thought she’d hyperventilate.

  “Oh, my God, Shay!”

  “Yes!” Shay twirled her in a circle. “It’s yours, honey. As it should be!” She kissed Mel’s temple and set her on her feet.

  Mel’s knees wobbled and she felt the blood draining from her head. “I-I think I better sit.” Shay guided her back into her chair. “No. I can’t sit.” Mel grabbed the edge of her desk and bobbed up, shoving a hand into her hair. “I can’t believe it.” She studied Brennan’s bright expression. “You’re serious? He changed his mind?”

  “He did,” Brennan said with a nod.

  “Impossible. He’d never back down.” Mel leaned toward him on outstretched arms. “He actually changed his mind?”

  “Yes.”

  Mel stared at him hard, as if he’d look away and reveal his deception. Slowly, she checked each face around her. Shay’s was last and Mel posed the question again, this time via raised eyebrows and her bottom lip between her teeth nervously.