by Vivi Holt
“I think you’re being a little melodramatic, Momma. He’s not going to destroy anything – he doesn’t even work at the Chronicle. He’s a fireman, did you know that? He’s not interested in the newspaper business.”
“That’s what he’s telling you, and you’re falling for his story hook, line and sinker! Which, by the way, is not at all like you, Molly.”
Molly sighed and covered her eyes. “Mom, trust me on this, Tim has no intention of undermining the Times or causing any of us trouble. He’s a nice guy. You should get to know him before you freak out.”
“Really – get to know him? Is this getting serious, Molly?”
Molly sighed. It was now or never – if she dove in and began the ruse, she’d be spending a lot more time with Tim Holden. Her family could end a decades-old feud, answering a prayer she’d been praying for years. Not to mention proving Vicky wrong about her impending spinsterhood. Those were all good things, and in that moment she couldn’t think of any reason why not. “Yes, we are getting serious. I really care about Tim, Momma. And I’d like you and Daddy to care about him as well.”
Molly’s car hummed, her hair flapping wildly in the wind. She rolled up the window and was swaddled in a welcome silence, then frowned as she swerved around an SUV that had braked suddenly. She loved driving, but the heavy Atlanta traffic made the journey from her apartment to the office longer and more frustrating than it really should be most days. Still, it was better than having to creep along the five miles of road inch by inch for forty-five minutes, which is what happened whenever it rained.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, she crossed the intersection and entered the Times building’s underground parking garage. All morning long she’d thought of nothing but Tim Holden. As usual, she’d gone for a run and tried to focus on the beauty of the park and the way Daisy darted after her ball, her golden coat flopping around. But then Tim, pushing his dark hair back from his face, flashed before her eyes and made her cheeks burn and her stomach flip.
Over breakfast when she read the news, there was that photo of the two of them together — and again Tim dominated her thoughts: the way he smiled, the dimples in his cheeks, his strong arms bulging beneath the tight sleeves of his simple T-shirt. She shook her head – he’d invaded her thoughts and she didn’t seem to be able to do anything about it. She had to get her mind straight – she couldn’t afford to fall for a guy like him.
And anyway, they had a plan. She should focus on the plan. For years she’d worried over her family’s obsession with the Holdens and the grudge they’d held for decades, passing it on to a third generation. If she didn’t do something to stop it now, she’d probably be expected to teach her own children to hate the Chronicle owners as well, and she had no intention of that. Now that she knew how much it might mean to Granddad if she helped heal the rift, she wanted to do that for him. He’d done so much for her.
A pretend relationship with Tim could be just the catalyst they’d need to reconcile with the Holdens. It wasn’t the best plan – now that she’d had a bit more time to mull it over, she realized there were myriad things that could go wrong. But it was the plan they had and it was already in motion, thanks to a nosy photographer from his family’s newspaper, so it would just have to do.
She stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the eighth floor. The ride up to her office gave her mind another opportunity to wander, this time to an image of Tim in his fireman’s uniform. He reached for her and, instead of throwing her over his shoulder this time, kissed her passionately. Her cheeks burned and she ran her fingertips across her lips, grateful that no one else was in the elevator.
When the doors opened with a swish, she stepped out, certain that her face must be flushed. She hurried to her cubicle, anxious to find distraction in her work. The workspaces ran the length of the floor, each desk only hidden from the ones beside it by thin gray fabric walls. There was no escaping the noise of telephones, voices, heels tapping across the polished concrete floors. Still, she loved it, loved being in the middle of things, the buzz of activity and the hum of conversation.
Amanda thought it ridiculous that she insisted on sitting with the rest of the team – she was a Beluga, after all. But Molly had tried working in a private office, and spent most of the day peering through the glass wall wondering what everyone else was up to and what she was missing out on. It was too quiet. The next day she’d moved back to her cubie, leaving the private office empty.
She slid her handbag under her desk, slumped into the swivel chair and turned on her laptop, then rested her elbows on the desk to wait for it to boot up.
“Staff meeting in five minutes,” chirped Vicky over the partition.
“Okay,” replied Molly. She logged on, then stood and stretched her arms over her head. It felt good to be back in the office, ready to start on something new. Journalism was like that –always something new to discover. Every day was an adventure waiting to happen, and just thinking about it brought a smile to her face.
With a blank notebook and pen in her hand, she walked to the break room. The coffee pot was almost empty, just dark dregs in the bottom. She eyed it, twisting her mouth – did she need coffee that badly?
She decided she did, and grabbed a chipped mug that read World’s Greatest Journalist from the overhead cabinet. The moniker made her grin and she remembered the day she’d given it to Vicky. It was an apology for a stupid fight they’d had. She couldn’t even recall what it was about, but every time she saw the mug she remembered how they’d made up by eating cookie dough and dancing around the living room to Taylor Swift, and it warmed her heart.
As she walked to the staff meeting, she sipped her coffee, grimaced, sipped again.
Vicky fell into step beside her. “You’re late,” whispered Molly with a half-smile.
“So are you.”
“Yeah, but everyone expects me to be late. You’re usually such a goody-goody.”
Vicky’s eyes rolled. “Whatever. You don’t know me as well as you think you do. Underneath this sweater set, I’m full of rebellion and misunderstood angst.”
Molly stifled her laughter as they walked into the boardroom. The entire team sat around the table, some having pulled chairs from other offices and squeezed around the edges of the room where there was space. As usual, Molly had missed out on a seat and stood with Vicky by the door.
Amanda had already begun the meeting and shot her a heated look beneath lowered eyebrows. “So to sum up what we’ve already covered for those just joining us – circulation is down again this quarter. It’s time to spitball some ideas. We’ll be having our regularly scheduled innovation and creativity seminar this afternoon …”
Molly interrupted her with a cough. “Um … can I just ask something?” She put her hand in the air after the fact.
Amanda took a slow breath, then smiled. “Yes, of course. What is it, Molly?”
“I’m just wondering how well the scheduled innovation and creativity sessions are doing?”
There was soft laughter from somewhere in the room and Molly ignored it, trying hard not to squirm or smile. She’d opposed the meetings when they’d first been suggested, but had been outvoted. When she’d asked the question, how could anyone expect to be innovative and creative on a scheduled timetable?, Amanda and the rest of the editors had exchanged a frustrated glance – again. She spoke up more often than anyone else in staff meetings, because she saw things differently from management and, being a Beluga, wasn’t afraid to say so.
They never did answer her question, though it had seemed reasonable to her. Innovation and creativity came from passion, didn’t they? And how could passion meet a schedule? No one had listened to her, and from what Molly could tell, nothing innovative or creative had ever resulted from the meetings, unless one counted the use of the corporate credit card to buy coffee, muffins and fruit for those who attended. Molly thought her sister was going about it the wrong way. But then again, creativity had never bee
n Amanda’s strong suit.
Neither was admitting she was wrong. “They’re going well,” she insisted. “We’re off to something of a slow start, but that’s to be expected. I think as we all learn to wrap our heads around the idea of being innovative and creative in our workplace, we’ll see some real progress.”
Molly nodded and chewed the end of her pen. “Sorry I won’t be able to be there this time. Could I offer my suggestion now, instead?”
She could sense her sister’s frustration growing. Ever the professional, the evidence of it only flashed across Amanda’s face for a moment before she gestured for Molly to go on.
“As everyone knows, the Chronicle has been focusing more and more on their digital edition and less on print. Every time they’ve scooped us lately, it’s been on their website – they’re operating on a twenty-four hour news cycle, so they don’t have to wait. Our digital edition is lacking in resources, style and … well, everything, really. I suggest that we put more resources into GTOnline, and focus our print edition on more in-depth pieces.”
There were a few nods around the room and murmurs of agreement. But most watched Amanda for a response before they committed to a view.
Amanda cocked her head. “Thank you, Molly. That’s a good idea, and I’ll make sure we include it in this afternoon’s session.”
Molly could see she was about to move on and jumped back in. “Amanda, sorry – just wondering if you really think it’s a good idea, since I have suggested it a few times before …”
Amanda sighed. “Sorry Molly, but I don’t think the CEO will go for it. We’re a newspaper. It’s what we’re known for – in-depth features and breaking news every morning. It’s what our readers buy the paper for. And when it all boils down, that’s what we need – people to buy our paper. We can’t give away our best stories online – it cannibalizes the print version and eats into our profits. We tried soliciting advertisers, but they didn’t seem to want to commit the money to GTOnline that they do for the print version.”
“But it’s the way every single media outlet is moving. We’re going to be left behind – we need more digital focus, not less. We could even have reporters vlog their research for the stories as an added bonus for subscribers – kind of like a behind-the-scenes look at the news. We can’t keep living in the past!” Molly stopped, her nostrils flaring.
Amanda smiled icily. “Perhaps we could have a private conversation about this later, Molly? Okay, I want to talk about vacation leave forms …”
Molly shook her head. It was always the same. She couldn’t understand why Amanda didn’t see what was happening, even as major papers around the country dropped like flies. The Times wouldn’t last much longer if it didn’t embrace the new way of working. She knew the opposition came from her father – he hated change. He loved the paper, wanted to see its legacy continue into the future, and couldn’t abide the idea of the print edition shrinking. But it was doing so regardless of his disapproval.
After the meeting, Molly stayed behind. Her sister, as editor-in-chief, always had a crowd milling around her afterward, vying for her attention.
Amanda waited until the throng had dispersed, then scowled. “Thanks for hijacking my meeting, Mol.”
“Sorry, sis, I didn’t mean to. But I’m serious …”
Amanda chuckled. “That’s an understatement.”
“So will you at least think about my idea?”
“Why? You know Dad won’t go for it.”
“You can convince him. I believe in you.”
Amanda piled up her papers and held them against her chest. “So what’s the deal with you and Tim Holden? I saw you two looking very cozy in the Chron …”
“We’re … seeing each other.”
Amanda’s eyes widened. “Momma said you were, but I didn’t believe her. I was sure she’d misinterpreted what you said. I see you every day and you’ve never mentioned him. Not to mention who he is – who his family is. How could you do that? You know what they’re like.”
“Actually, I don’t, not really. The feud is Granddad’s and Dad’s, not mine, and it’s stupid. I don’t think any of us even knows what it’s about anymore. It’s time we all put it behind us …”
“We know what it’s about. They steal stories from us, scoop our hard work, print complete untruths. They’re diabolical – nothing’s off limits for them.”
Molly took a quick breath. “And they feel the same about us.”
“How can you say that? You know that’s not true.”
Molly shrugged. “I know it’s not true about us, but they say it is. Besides, Tim doesn’t even work for the paper – he works for the fire department. It’s time to forgive the Holdens and put that old grudge behind us, don’t you think?”
“You’re playing with fire.” Amanda shook her head and walked away.
Molly’s heart pounded. Was Amanda right – would she regret getting involved with Tim? His face flashed before her mind’s eye and she smiled to herself. He wasn’t her usual type, to be sure. She guessed he’d probably never had his heart broken before – he’d be the one to do the breaking. Still, she had it under control. No one would get hurt, least of all her, and while they were working on detente between the families, she’d get to spend more time with him as a friend. Everyone needed more friends.
Anyway, it was worth the risk, if only to prove to Vicky (and herself) that she hadn’t shut herself off to the possibility of more in life and in love. And for Granddad – it was worth taking the risk for him.
Vicky hurried over, her eyes wide. “We’ve got a story.”
Molly went to her desk and set her things down, Vicky hovering by her side. “What is it?”
“Just a few streets over – there’s a house fire.”
“Okay, let’s go!”
5
Molly stared up at the blazing inferno in front of their car, already two stories high, leaping and cracking. “I’m calling 911.” She pulled out her phone.
Just then, they heard sirens in the distance. “I think they’re already on their way,” stated Vicky. She glanced over her shoulder and reversed the car further down the street.
Molly shoved her phone back into her purse and got out of the car, quickly scanning the street. Curious onlookers had gathered on the other side of the road. Some had raised hands to cover their mouths in horror. The house itself looked as though it would crumble at any moment. Only the shell remained and savage flames leaped from the empty eye sockets that had once been windows, curling the shingles on the roof and sending soot into the air to drift to the ground like black snow all over the neighborhood.
She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed everyone had gotten out. There was no way anyone inside would be able to survive.
A police car flew up the road, siren keening and lights flashing. It parked across the street and an officer leaped out. “Step back! Everyone stay back!” he shouted, arms outstretched. His partner climbed from the vehicle also, a radio to her mouth.
“I’m going to talk to the people across the street,” called Molly over her shoulder. She trotted toward them just as a long fire truck with a ladder rounded the end of the street.
The fire finally contained, Tim wiped away the sweat that soaked his hair and trickled down his temples. He sighed and leaned against the side of the truck. It had been a giant blaze, and now they’d have to investigate and write a report on what had started it. He couldn’t be sure, but by the way the fire had burned and the color of the flames he suspected some kind of accelerant.
He squinted against the afternoon sun. Most of the onlookers had moved on now, sated by the excitement of the blaze. He understood their interest – everyone dreaded the idea of a house fire taking all that they had, so when one happened in their neighborhood, all they could do was watch in dismay as it burned, being grateful it wasn’t their home.
“Need water?”
He spun to find Molly Beluga holding a bottle of water out to him, and smiled.
“What are you doing here? Are you following me?”
She chuckled. “Yes, I’m officially your stalker.”
“Thank you for the water. But how about I just text you where I’m going next, save you the trouble?” He uncapped the bottle and took a giant swig. “Mmmm … just what I needed.”
She smiled. “I’m glad to be of service. And if you could text me, I’d really appreciate it. Being a stalker is exhausting.”
He grinned and set the bottle on a step on the side of the truck.
“So do you know if everyone got out?” she asked.
He cocked his head to one side. “Ah, you’re on the job.”
She nodded, her cheeks coloring slightly. “Just covering a neighborhood tragedy. It’s important people know what happened.”
“Hmmm … I’m sure it is. But I’m just here to put out the fire and figure out how it started. Likely the police will have information about the house’s occupants.” His voice sounded more official than he’d meant it to, but something about Molly always threw him off his game. She made him nervous – in a good way.
“Okay, thanks – I’ll ask them about that.” She chewed the end of her pen and let her gaze wander.
He coughed. “I was going to call you, it’s good to see you.”
She swiveled to face him, one eyebrow arching. “Oh?”
“Yeah. My parents saw the picture in the paper.”
“Saw it? Didn’t they publish it?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess they did.” He grinned. She wasn’t going to let him get away with anything. “Anyway, I told them we were dating, and they want to meet you.”
“I told my family the same – I figured we couldn’t just spring the whole fake-wedding thing on them right away. They need to warm to the idea.”
“Yep, me too. So they wanted me to ask you to come over for dinner Friday night at their house.”
“That sounds good – what should I wear?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Whatever you like.”
