Tidings of Love

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  My body temperature spiked. “I did not know that.”

  “I thought maybe Sam and I would make one of those construction-paper chains.”

  I started to laugh.

  “I’m serious. You know, the kind where you alternate between red and green paper links and each day you tear one off.”

  “I am all too familiar with construction paper crafts,” I said.

  “Then you should make one with John and Jessica. I bet they’d love doing that with their mom.”

  I nodded.

  “So it’s a deal?” he said.

  I looked at him quizzically.

  “When we both reach the last link in our chain, we’ll be together again.”

  My stomach tightened. Don’t cry. I felt my chest begin to shake with emotion. Keep it together. I couldn’t answer. Don’t make me chose between you and my career. I’ve done that before and it doesn’t work.

  “Janey.” For the first time I saw worry cross his face. “Just say yes.” He was strong enough for both of us.

  Maybe I could have both. While I wanted to answer with what I hoped was possible, I answered with what I knew would protect me.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Chapter 17

  By the time I passed the elk refuge that welcomed me into Jackson’s city limits, I had snuck glances at the front page of the paper throughout the drive home. My byline was front and center, above the fold—where a journalist lives and breathes. Even in black and white and Times New Roman font, it seemed surreal.

  What wasn’t surreal was the number of email messages that started to pour in once I was back into cell range. My phone chimed with a very full email inbox. I glanced at the screen and spotted Joe’s name. My heart skipped a beat. I pulled over to the side of the road to read his message.

  “Need you to call Chief Gambino for follow-up interview. He’s expecting your call. I think you’ll like the update. File copy by midnight—I’ll be waiting. And congrats, Janey, you really hit a home run.”

  Midnight? Tonight? It was nearing eight and I still had to pick up my kids, get home, unpack, interview the fire chief, and write a story. Impossible.

  I turned on the radio just as I was pulling up to my old house. There wasn’t any update about the fire on the local station. This is ridiculous. And so were the outfits my ex-husband had chosen for our twin first graders.

  They looked like Hansel and Gretel. At first glance, Jessica’s brown corduroy jumper wasn’t so bad. It was the white shirt with puffy sleeves and wraparound apron that clearly had to go. John was in brown overalls, suspenders, and a white shirt. All that was missing was a gingerbread house and an evil witch.

  But what really made the fairy tale picture complete was when their new stepmom appeared on the front porch dressed to match my children. Oh great, she’s young enough to be dressing like seven-year-olds.

  “Thanks for being such good sports when we took our family Christmas photo,” she said loud enough for my benefit.

  Seriously?

  “See you two next weekend,” she said, before ducking back into my old house.

  My fairy tale-clad children rushed down the driveway to greet me. I held out my arms and their little bodies crashed into me.

  “Oh, my babies.” The tops of their heads smelled like baby shampoo. “I missed you.”

  “Mommy! Did you bring us presents?” Jessica asked.

  “Why would I have presents?”

  “Because you were in Casper!”

  I’ve been told I don’t have a poker face, but shock is a hard emotion to mask.

  “Nice front-page story, Turner.” Mark’s usual smugness surfaced and my usual forced air of solemnity followed.

  “Thanks.” I tussled Jessica’s curly hair and fought the smile that was forming on my lips. Front and center, baby.

  “Hey, do you have a second?” Mark’s normally annoying voice was tentative.

  “Yeah, let me get the kids in the car—it’s heated and it’ll keep them warm.” They were sandwiched on either side of me. “Okay, kiddos, you have all your things?”

  My towheaded boy and girl nodded in unison. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing. They looked like they were ready to serve beer at Oktoberfest. And Momma could use a beer just about now.

  After buckling them into their car seats in the back of my bug, all I wanted was a little Fahrvergnügen, but instead I had to deal with my ex-husband. “What’s up?”

  “I really meant it about the story. It was a good piece,” he said.

  “Thank you.” So what is this really about?

  “Thanksgiving Day fire—that’s not something that happens every day. And in Casper, no less.”

  I nodded.

  “So do you have a new reporting job in Casper?” His voice piqued with interest.

  And there it is. I spoke through gritted teeth. “Nope.” Not yet.

  “Oh.” A look of disappointment shot across his face.

  “Why?”

  “Well, the airlines are looking to relocate a few of us to Cheyenne to work out of that airport hub. And I was thinking if you were working in Casper, it’s only two hours from Cheyenne versus—”

  “A seven-hour drive from Jackson,” I cut him off.

  He nodded solemnly. “Yeah.”

  “Are they relocating you?”

  He shrugged. “Right now it’s kind of open, but … ”

  I had been the wife of an airline executive for a decade. I knew how it worked. Relocations always began with the illusion that the executive had the choice. It’s how we ended up moving from Los Angeles to Jackson.

  “Anyway, I thought if you had been reassigned to Casper, it’d be a real win-win.” He tucked his hands into his pants pockets. “Well, I’ll let you get the kids home. Congrats on the front page.”

  “Thanks.” I walked to the car, the thought of relocating to Casper buzzing in my head. Is that possible? Would there be a reporting job available?

  These thoughts dominated my attention as I drove toward the nearest convenience store. A bright red, coin-operated Wyoming Frontier newspaper rack was parked next to the trash can. If this was my one crack at a front-page story, I was going to pick up a few extra copies. I fished through my ashtray for every available quarter and kept the car running with heat blaring on John and Jessica while I ran to the machine.

  Each time I dropped three quarters into the machine, pulled back the angled lid, and grabbed a paper, a new one popped forward. And each time my name was beneath the headline. My stomach did a little jig. It was better than a slot machine because the payoff was instant. Within minutes, I was back in the car with four new papers and an empty ashtray, and on the phone with Kris.

  “Did you see the front page?”

  Her throaty laughed followed. “I wondered when you were going to call me.”

  “Check me out.” Adrenaline coursed through my veins. I held a crisp copy of the paper and pointed to my byline. “Hey, kiddos, whose name is that?”

  “Mommy’s!” I heard in duplicate.

  “I’m just … oh, Kris, this is everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s like I’m a real journalist.”

  Kris chuckled. “Janey, you are a journalist. The only person who doesn’t believe that is you.”

  I placed the stack of papers on the passenger seat and stared at them.

  “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you,” Kris said. “You’ve always been so willing to go the extra mile, and it’s paying off. It’s a fantastic story and a great photo. It gave me chills to see your name on the front page.”

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice tender with emotion. “Joe wants me to interview the chief again and write a story—by tonight.”

  “Then get off the phone, get those sweet darlings to bed, and get cracking.” Kris was a math teacher and nothing if not pragmatic. “And I’m here if you need me. I’ll be grading a statistics assignment tonight so I’ll be up. And don’t even think you’re going to
get out of telling me all the other details about your dinner and your night.”

  I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. “What other details?”

  Our laughter once again fused over the phone.

  Chapter 18

  The countdown to Christmas began early for Casper when a DC-10 delivered good news to the mountain community.

  I leaned back on the couch in my living room. What would Joe say about my lead? I had been home less than three hours and already I missed his smell, his cooking, and most of all, his stenographer skills. I’d never dictated a story to someone. Even when I was in L.A., I’d text copy back to the office if I didn’t have access to a computer—anything to avoid dealing with an editor. But Joe was different from the editors I had been assigned there. What makes him so different? I drummed my fingers on the keyboard and answered my own question. He was a reporter before he was an editor. Joe understood the process. I turned back to the story he’d assigned and kept writing.

  Casper Mountain was drenched by a DC-10 fire bomber jet that dumped thousands of gallons of water on the middle of the fire, bringing the burn under containment. A Thanksgiving Day lightning strike ignited several fires on the mountain that devoured two cabin homes and forced the evacuation of 300 residents. Fire crews worked tirelessly throughout the night to combat flames on the steep terrain.

  I glanced at my notes from my phone conversation with Chief Gambino, who was quick to remind me that I had promised he’d never hear from me again. I feigned an apology, but I don’t think the chief bought it any more than I did. Joe was right. My story had picked up momentum. The paper tweeted it, I retweeted it, and so did thousands of Wyoming residents. It was going viral along with the picture I had taken of Frank and the chief, who liked the publicity for his department as much as I liked getting my name back out there. As my ex would say, it was a win-win. I reviewed my interview notes.

  In total, the fire burned more than six square miles and a total of a hundred acres, up seventy acres from Thanksgiving night. More than 450 fire personnel from throughout the state were on the scene with aerial reinforcements that brought the fire into containment.

  “Once the wind diminished, we started to really gain ground on the fire,” Chief Charlie Gambino said.

  My transition leading up the chief’s next quote flowed from my fingers and appeared on the screen of my laptop.

  The early Christmas miracle Chief Gambino hoped for appeared when snow fell from the skies.

  I wish I had been there.

  “I think the entire Cowboy State read that story about Frank Outterland losing his homestead and prayed for a miracle,” Gambino said.

  I paused. Emotions caught in my throat. Joe was right. My story made a difference. It felt odd to write a story about my cover article and the snowfall that I missed when I drove out of town, but Joe seemed to think I was the journalist for the job. And after seeing the front page, I had come to trust him in a way I hadn’t imagined possible. You gotta love a man who shows what’s in his heart and doesn’t just say it.

  I quickly concluded the piece.

  While the fire is now contained, firefighters will continue to monitor the mountain for hot spots.

  I hit the “save” button and opened my email. I typed the letter “J” and Joe’s name surfaced. My stomach stirred with excitement, but my mind quickly assumed control. Keep it professional. This is your career. I attached my file to the new message and briefly wrote,

  Joe,

  Hope this is what you had in mind. Please advise if it requires editing or any adjustment.

  Thanks!

  Janey

  I sat back and stared at the screen. The exclamation mark seemed to lighten the mood without overdoing it. I clicked “send” and headed toward a hot bath.

  Two hours later, I lay in bed and stared at the alarm clock on my nightstand. Twelve o’clock flashed in red neon. I checked my phone. No missed calls or emails. I hugged my pillow, and without any warning, tears fell. Was this about Mark moving? Oh my hell. Why would that make me cry? Or was it over Joe not calling? I could’ve called him. I put my spinning thoughts to a halt and texted Kris.

  Joe hasn’t called. Or emailed. And Mark may be moving to Cheyenne.

  Her reply made sense:

  Long day. Mark just trying to steal your thunder & Joe’s probably crashed. U need sleep. Give it 24 hrs.

  Chapter 19

  My eyes were adjusting to the morning light when his email came into view.

  Janey—

  Thought we’d keep the momentum going on the fundraising efforts to rebuild the Outterland family homestead. Interview Frank for his reaction and any other Outterland you can wrangle.

  Thanks!

  Joe

  I tossed my smartphone back onto the bed and pulled the covers up around me. I had finally upgraded my phone, and now I wish I hadn’t. Before my smartphone, I had time to wake up, turn on my computer while I poured a cup of coffee, and then see what sterile email my Thanksgiving host had sent. Now when I woke up, Joe’s professional, to-the-point, perfectly normal editor-assigning-reporter emails surfaced instantaneously. There was no amount of caffeine to offset the tension that this standoff, which we had both seemingly entered, created. A week had passed and neither of us was broaching the topic of “that night.” While nothing happened, it remained stuck in limbo and so did my feelings.

  “Maybe he’s playing me.” I waved my hand to clear the mushy thought that found its way out of my mouth. It didn’t help. All I knew was that Joe had awakened in me something I had let go dormant: my heart. And I didn’t know how to make it hibernate again any more than I knew how to tell him how I felt. Or worse, ask about a possible reporting job in Casper.

  “What the hell?” I spoke into the phone before Kris even had a chance to say hello. “Why couldn’t I have found the postman attractive? Ray’s a good guy. Married, but at least I’d see him every day. And this unrequited love would eventually lessen because I’d realize Ray is just not my guy. But not seeing Joe and getting work emails from him is awful because it keeps me wondering.”

  “And you’re wondering about what, Miss Janey?”

  I shrugged. “Whether it was real. The connection we had. Or did my love of the story eclipse our moment?”

  “Would you have done anything differently?”

  “No.”

  “Then that’s your answer. You and Joe had a fun Thanksgiving dinner that led to a fantastic front-page article. End of story. If there was anything else, one of you would have made more of an effort.”

  I pressed back against the pillow, absorbing the unexpected blow her words brought. “Ouch.”

  “If you don’t like how that sounds, then do something different.”

  “Why are you so logical? Don’t you have any demons? Conflicting emotions?”

  Startled laughter seeped through the phone. “Oh, Miss Janey, you know I have past demons. I just don’t let them rule my future.”

  “You’re too healthy to be my friend.”

  “Listen, I feel somewhat responsible for the situation you’re in.”

  If Kris were in my bedroom with me, I know I’d be giving her a bewildered look because I couldn’t imagine how she was responsible for any of this. “And you feel this way, why?”

  “I’m the one who suggested you invite yourself to Thanksgiving dinner, and while you didn’t exactly invite yourself to Joe’s, you ended up there just the same. And professionally, it turned out to be great, but personally, I feel bad that it’s left you feeling this way.”

  I stared at the ceiling fan above me that slowly rotated to allow the heat to circulate in my room. “Kris, this isn’t on you. You’re right. If I want things to be different, I should do something different. I’m just not sure what to do. Then there’s the whole issue of asking about a reporting job.” I exhaled and added more hot air to the room. “It’d be better if I let this thing die and maintained a professional relationship with him versus tell
ing him how I feel and risk losing both my job and him.”

  “How do you feel about him?”

  My body responded with a swift wave of emotions that both ached to see and kiss Joe and hurt since neither of us were doing anything to make that happen. “I like him.”

  “Then don’t settle for one or the other. Get the job and then get Joe.”

  For the first time since I left Casper, I felt like my feet were firmly planted on solid ground. “Yeah, I can do that. Job. Then Joe.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  A sudden gust of breath filled me as a shot of adrenaline surged through my veins. “It’s something I thought up on the mountain. Let me write it and you’ll be the first to read it. No”—I shook my head and grinned widely—“Joe will.”

  Chapter 20

  Five Fun Ways to Meet Your Someone Special This Holiday Season

  I typed the headline and then leaned back against the barstool. Okay it’s not a craft column, but it’s the next best thing. Besides, there are only so many crafts you can make out of pinecones. Sadly, I knew this because I had checked online. And pinecones wouldn’t hold a reader’s interest, but how to have a happily after ever this holiday season? Oh, yeah. It was brilliant. I grabbed my coffee cup and took a big gulp. It was bitter, but it’d do the trick. I could practically feel the caffeine shoot through me.

  From taking a chance and accepting a blind dinner date to the old, but reliable, accidentally stepping under the mistletoe move, the holidays are a great time to create a spark.

  My fingers danced across the keyboard. I may have to rework the lead, but I’m on to something. I hit the number key function and “1” appeared indented on the page.

  1. Dashing through the snow? Hop on a sled, get in a sleigh, and see where the road takes you. If you end up at an old friend’s house—all the better. And if you’re the house where an old acquaintance shows up, open the door. Let the spirit of the season be welcoming to all.