In All Deep Places

by Susan Meissner

  “Just pray for him,” he said gruffly, struggling for control.

  “I already am,” she said. Then she added after a momentary pause, “So, you’ll be staying then. I suppose you’re handling the paper for him? Do you know for how long?”

  Luke rubbed his left temple with a free hand.

  “I don’t know,” he answered, clearing his throat. “I didn’t say anything to my mom, but I can’t see how I can stay longer than a couple months.”

  “A couple months,” she repeated tonelessly. “And you don’t want the girls and me to come at all? The whole time?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I just don’t want you to come right away. Dad would… I think it would devastate him to see Noelle and Marissa and not be able to hug them or talk to them. I don’t think any of us could handle what that would do to him.”

  “Are you doing okay?” Téa said gently, after a moment’s pause, and Luke could almost feel her caress.

  “Yes and no,” he answered honestly. “Mostly no.”

  “Is it more than just your dad, Luke?” she continued. “You’ve seemed a little preoccupied lately, even before his stroke.”

  Luke was at once grateful for his wife’s intuition. It made it easier to tell her he was feeling more and more like a trapped animal—caught in a snare of his own making.

  “It’s the book mostly. I can’t seem to move forward with it, no matter how hard I try. I seem to have lost my vision for what I do. I don’t know. I feel like… I feel like I have everything but suddenly know it’s not enough.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” she replied warily.

  He was quick to clarify. “It’s not about you and the girls. You’re the only one for me and you always will be. And I would give my life for our girls. It’s not that. It’s more like, there has to be more than just this. More than just what I have, what I have done with my life.”

  Téa was silent for a moment.

  “I don’t know if I understand what you’re saying, Luke.”

  He knew he was not making a whole lot of sense. He wasn’t even sure he could explain it to himself.

  “I don’t know how to describe it. I feel restless.”

  “Do you want me to come? The girls could stay with Jeff and Dana for a few days. Should I come?”

  “No. I just need some thinking time. Maybe it’s better this way.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “I’ll be all right. I’m not worried about me. It’s this book hanging over my head that rankles me the most. I’ve got to finish it somehow.”

  “That won’t be easy with trying to run a paper and helping your dad.”

  “No, but I think I’m going to hire some students from the high school to help me out at the paper. And there’s not a whole lot I can do for Dad. Mom will probably stay in an apartment in Cedar Falls while he’s in rehab. So I’ll have the house to myself every night.”

  “I want you to call me if it feels like you have too much to deal with, Luke.”

  “I promise.”

  “Call me tomorrow, okay?”

  “I will. I love you,” he said, wishing he could say it to her face.

  “I love you back. Good night.”

  Luke clicked the phone off and set it on the coffee table, very much aware of the silence and darkness all around him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been alone in this house at night. It probably was when he was a teenager. And that seemed like ages ago. He rose from the sofa and headed up the stairs to his old bedroom, turning on lights all the way and leaving them on.

  His old room didn’t look at all like it did when it belonged to him; it had been redecorated in shades of lavender the year he’d moved to Boston. But he instantly knew the view from the window would be the same. He walked over to the double-hung window on impulse to look at the ancient elm between his house and Nell’s old house. Just outside the glass were the weathered boards of the tree house his father had built for him the summer he’d turned twelve. Beyond that, the limbs of the tree reached for the glass of the facing window in the Janvik house—Norah’s window, when she lived there. The tree house looked more battered then it had the last time he had seen it, but he was still overcome with its vivid sameness. The room he stood in was not the same. He was not the same. But the tree on the other side of the window had not changed much, and the decaying structure that rested in its branches was still brimming with long-kept secrets and that one solitary kiss.

  Luke stood there for a few more minutes, and then in one single motion, he picked up his suitcase and walked out of the room. He stepped into the hallway and into Ethan’s old room. He’d sleep there tonight.

  Four

  Luke arrived at the Halcyon Herald office half an hour before opening, hoping to quietly refamiliarize himself with his father’s newspaper. He had worked there during his high school years, and there probably wasn’t one thing about the business he hadn’t been a part of. He had taken photos of accidents on the highway, and children kissing Santa Claus, and the yearly coronation of Miss Halcyon. He had attended school-board meetings, political rallies, and ribbon cuttings. He had interviewed WWII vets, cancer survivors, and inventors of farm implements. He had typed up obituaries, legal notices, and senior dining menus—even sold advertising. The only thing foreign to him was the flair for community journalism, which his dad had and he did not. But he had not worked for his father since the summer before his freshman year at the University of Iowa—seventeen years ago.

  Right off the bat, Luke could see there had been some changes to the office since he had last visited. The 35mm cameras had been replaced with digitals. The computers looked new. The laser printer did, too. The layout tables in the back were gone since the paper was now assembled on-screen and sent not by vehicle to the printer in the next county but electronically. He wondered only for a moment how his father had paid for all this new technology. Jack Foxbourne didn’t hesitate to dip into the inheritance his mother had left him if that’s what it took to keep the paper viable.

  Despite the changes, some things were still the same. The hodgepodge of coffee cups in the break room. Cubby’s collection of baseball caps. Lucie’s impeccably kept front desk. His dad’s numerous piles of manila folders, strewn about his desk in no apparent order and decorated with copious amounts of yellow sticky notes.

  He had been in the office five minutes, taking it all in visually, when Lucie Hermann, the 58-year-old office manager and lifelong Halcyon resident, arrived carrying a basket of blueberry muffins.

  “Oh my, Luke!” she exclaimed, setting the basket down on the front counter and wrapping her arms around Luke in a warm embrace. “We’re so glad you’re here. And we’re all so hopeful your father will be as right as rain in no time!”

  “Thanks, Lucie,” Luke replied. “I hope he will be, too.”

  “Let’s get some coffee going,” She grabbed the muffins and made her way to the break area at the back of the main office, talking all the while. “Now, your mother called me this morning and said we’re to do whatever you say,” she said as she poured water into the coffeemaker from a battered plastic jug. “If you want to cut back two pages, we’ll cut back two pages. If you want to put obits on the front, we’ll put obits on the front.”

  Luke smiled. “We’re not putting obituaries on the front—” he began, but Lucie cut him off.

  “Well, I’m just saying we’ll do whatever you say,” she said, dumping bargain-brand coffee into a filter. Luke winced. He hadn’t had a cup of bargain-brand coffee in years. By choice.

  “Lucie, you know as well as I do that when my dad is gone, you’re the brains behind this operation, so let’s not mess with success,” he replied, giving away nothing about his disdain for what was now brewing happily away in the coffeemaker.

  “Oh, go on!” Lucie said gruffly, but her smile was broad.

  “Between you and Cubby and the guys down at the coffee shop, I think the paper will pretty much write
itself,” Luke leaned back against the front counter and crossed his arms. “I’ll just help it along a little.”

  “Give yourself more credit than that, Luke,” Lucie turned to face him. “You’ll probably turn this paper on its head and end up with a Pulitzer. Folks around here won’t want you to leave when your dad comes back.”

  An uncomfortable silence arose between them as if they both knew the chances of Jack returning to his newspaper were slim. Lucie filled the silence quickly.

  “We’re just so happy to have you here, Luke,” she said. “Even though the reason that brought you here isn’t a good one. We’re all so proud of you. There isn’t a one of us who isn’t bursting with pride over your success.”

  “Thanks, Lucie.”

  The front door opened and in walked Charles “Cubby” Vortberg, the Herald’s sports editor. A retired football coach and high-school athletic director, there wasn’t much about sports that Cubby Vortberg didn’t know. But it was all he knew.

  “Well, well, well!” Cubby boomed. “There he is! Mr. Bestseller!”

  “How’s it going, Cubby?” Luke extended his right hand, but Cubby pulled him close and wrapped him in a tight hug, slapping him on the back as if he were choking on something half-chewed.

  Cubby broke away but kept his big, beefy arms on Luke’s shoulders. “Now, I want you to know we got your dad on our prayer chain at church. We got Elsie Frommer on our prayer chain. Elsie Frommer. She’s got an in with God. She’s top-notch at praying. You know what I mean?”

  Luke couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Cubby, I appreciate that.”

  “No problem,” the older man boomed.

  Luke looked about the main office, unsure of what to do next. “So, has the paper been sent?”

  “Cubby and I sent it last night around eight so you wouldn’t have to worry about it first thing,” Lucie said.

  “Okay. Um, well, do you still have Tuesday-morning planning meetings?” Luke continued.

  “Of course,” Lucie said, smiling. “That’s what the muffins are for.”

  “That’s why I’m on time!” Cubby roared, heading to his glassed-in office at the back of the main room. He picked up a calendar, grabbed his swivel chair, and pushed it to the break area.

  “Your dad’s planner is in the top left drawer of his desk,” Lucie grabbed a tablet and her own chair.

  Luke stepped into his dad’s office, opposite Cubby’s on the far west wall, and tried not to hesitate as he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a black, spiral-bound planner. He didn’t feel right about opening his dad’s desk drawers, but he knew he had to shake that feeling pronto. He grabbed a mechanical pencil from a Halcyon Hornets coffee mug that was filled with pens, more pencils, and an X-acto knife. He started to walk out, but then walked over to his dad’s desk and grabbed hold of the swivel captain’s chair. It appeared this was how it was done: No one used a break-room chair to plan the next issue of the paper.

  “Here you go,” Lucie said, handing him a steaming mug when he reached the break area. “Black, like you like it.”

  Luke accepted the mug as graciously as he could. “Thanks, Lucie.”

  The three of them sat in a silent circle for a few seconds. It was clear they had been told to let him take the lead. His mother’s idea, no doubt. He wished she had told them the exact opposite. He’s busy trying to finish a book! And he’s worried about Jack! So just take the paper and run with it, okay?

  He had come up with a plan while he showered that morning, and it seemed like he was going to be able to present it after all.

  While he had stood under the hot spray of water he had decided he desperately needed to concentrate on his own career, not his dad’s. He didn’t want the full burden of filling the Halcyon Herald’s sixteen weekly pages. For Pete’s sake, he did have a book to finish. He would get help. He’d pay for it himself.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Okay, guys. Here’s the deal,” he said. “I need to know exactly what everyone does so I can see where we need to get some extra help.”

  “Extra help?” Lucie asked gently.

  “I want to hire a few extra people, on a temporary basis, to help us get through this. I’m afraid I’m way behind on my own writing schedule.”

  Lucie looked at Cubby and her bottom lip disappeared as she sucked it in. Cubby scratched his head.

  “You don’t think that’s a good idea?” Luke asked.

  “Well, no, it’s not that? Lucie said, still looking at Cubby.

  “See, it’s like this,” Cubby said. “We are like a nine-man football team, B-squad. We’d like to be a Class AA school with all-varsity players, but we have to play with the resources we have: We’re skinny and short and we don’t have special teams and we have to play both offense and defense. You know what I mean?”

  Luke grinned at Cubby’s explanation. So it was about money.

  “Look, I’m going to take care of the financial arrangements,” he said. “It’s worth it to me to be able to have the time to write.”

  Cubby nodded. It sounded okay to him. No extra work would be headed his way.

  “Well, if you think that’s the way to go,” Lucie said cautiously.

  “I do,” Luke said.

  “Even though your dad will probably throw a full-blown fit when he comes back and learns you spent your own money to hire people?” Lucie added.

  Luke’s face softened. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see my dad throw a full-blown fit.”

  Lucie nodded and looked down at her tablet. Then the phone rang, and Lucie answered it, took a message, and came back to her chair. The interruption had been well-timed.

  “Now, Gretchen only does composition and ad design, right?” Luke said after Lucie had returned.

  “That’s right,” she said, looking up again. “She only works four days a week. She has Tuesdays off. She won’t answer the phone or type any notices. She likes to work in the corner there with her headphones in her ears.”

  “And Dad is okay with that?”

  Lucie shrugged. “She’s the artist. No one can design anything like she can. He lets her have her way because she’s so good at what she does.”

  Okay, no help there, Luke thought.

  “And Todd only works after school?”

  “Yes. He takes all the sports photos, all the school photos, Saturday events, accidents that happen after working hours. And he picks up the papers from the printer’s Tuesdays after school and takes them to the post office. Oh, and school gets out next week and then he’ll be available during the day, too.”

  “Can he write?” Luke tasked.

  “Ah, let’s not go there,” Cubby said.

  Luke nodded. “Okay. This is what I want you to do. Lucie, you keep running the office, doing the books, payroll, all that. But I want you to hire a teenager to take over for you at the front desk every day after one o’clock so you can do legal notices, obits, announcements, press releases, and the like. I want you guys to find out which student is the top seller at the high school for fund-raising, offer them a job, and tell them they can make a dollar more than minimum wage and twenty percent on every advertising sale they close.”

  “Twenty?” Lucie said, eyes wide.

  “Twenty,” Luke said. “Tell them it’s temporary. Maybe just through the summer. Cubby, you have to fill those three sports pages. I don’t care how you do it. Do surveys on the street, have Todd take pictures of little girls playing hopscotch, do a feature story on local fishing legends, I don’t care. You just need to fill them, okay?”

  “Will do,” Cubby said.

  “I will write three front page stories a week and my dad’s column, but that’s it,” Luke said. “When Todd comes in today, we’ll tell him he’s in charge of getting the main photo for the paper each week and three or four other stand-alone photos. And Lucie, you need to find two noncritical stories that can go on the front if we have space to fill.”

  Lucie and Cubby nodded and
waited.

  “Okay, so what about this week’s paper?” Lucie said.

  “What about it?” Luke replied.

  “What’s going on the front page?”

  Luke thought for a moment. “Get me a copy of last year’s issue for the same week.”

  Lucie walked over to the former darkroom and opened a door. Inside were rows of filing cabinets. She opened a drawer, pulled out a folded newspaper from within a file folder and walked back, placing the paper in Luke’s lap.

  Luke unfolded it and read the front-page headlines.

  “Okay. High school graduation preview. City Council meeting. Annual bloodmobile visit. Feature story on a lady that makes dolls. There’s our front page.”

  Lucie looked at the year-old issue. “Well, I’m sure the graduation, city council meeting and bloodmobile are all on for next week, but we can’t do the doll lady again.”

  “Of course we can’t. Just find me somebody who makes something else.”

  With the meeting over and Lucie and Cubby off to fulfill their duties, Luke headed back to his father’s office. He surveyed the top of the desk with its array of scattered manila folders and sighed.

  He would have to put them in some kind of order. He stood for a moment longer and then scooped them all up, putting them into one pile on one end of the desk, noting that at least they were all labeled. But he didn’t feel like tackling any of it. He’d sort through them tomorrow one by one. Then he stepped out of the room. Half an hour of being emergency editor, and he had already had enough for one day.

  “I’m going to be in Cedar Falls with my folks for the rest of the day,” he said to Lucie, who looked up at him in surprise. “Let me know how you come out with those students, okay?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, wide-eyed. “Give our love to your mom and dad.”

  He nodded and headed out the door, anxious to be away from his new responsibilities, anxious to see his father, and anxious for a real cup of coffee.

  The house seemed even more lonely and unwelcoming when Luke returned to Halcyon that evening. He made a quick call to Téa and the girls, learning that Alan had called the house, wondering what he was up to. Téa had told Luke’s editor the news about his dad, and Alan had responded, “Tell Luke to take all the time he needs.” It was liberating to hear that, in ways Alan didn’t even know about. Luke decided he would e-mail him and Carmen from the Herald tomorrow. He was oddly grateful that his current predicament would keep them both at a distance while he tried to recapture his writing edge.