by Harper Bliss
Eileen rose and towered over Naomi. “You know what? My mom was right. Come January, I’ll be out of here. I’ll be leaving your precious Derby. So it’s probably for the best to end this now.”
A knot grew in Naomi’s belly—in the same spot where a few minutes earlier butterflies had been frolicking at the mere prospect of spending an hour with Eileen. Naomi barely recognized the woman she’d had such a lovely time with over the past few weeks.
She stood up, rising to Eileen’s height.
“You’re breaking up with me?” Naomi had trouble pushing the words past the lump in her throat.
Eileen gave a one-shouldered shrug. “What’s there to break up from even? This was never going to be anything more than a roll in the hay. We don’t see eye to eye on most things. It’s not only the difference in age, although that plays a big part in it as well. We’re simply too different, you and me.”
Tears stung behind Naomi’s eyes. “Are you serious?” She well and truly raised her voice now. “After all the things you said to me this weekend? Suddenly, none of that’s true anymore?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Eileen deflated in front of her. “None of it matters. I’m not right for you. And I’ll leave town again and hurt you, just like I did with Melissa…”
“I’m not Melissa and history doesn’t always have to repeat itself.”
“It does. Because did you really think I was going to stay in this one-horse town for you?” Eileen shook her head. “I’d go mad here. This may be your real world, but it isn’t mine.”
Eileen’s words felt like a blow to the stomach. Naomi couldn’t keep the tears from spilling any longer. She didn’t care that Eileen saw her cry, even though she’d probably consider that just another sign of weakness.
Naomi couldn’t think of anything else to say. If Eileen really wanted to end things between them, she had found the right words to do it with. She wasn’t going to stay. Naomi wasn’t important enough to make her even consider that possibility.
She cast one last glance at Eileen, whose shoulders had started to slump, turned around, and fled the apartment.
Once she’d banged the door shut behind her, she leaned against it for a few minutes, panting. She could barely wrap her mind around what had just happened. Tears fell freely down her cheeks and Naomi tried, in vain, to catch them with the sleeve of her coat. At least Eileen had told her how she truly felt about their future—making Naomi feel even more foolish for having even used that word for the flimsy thing they’d had between them.
How could she not have seen Eileen’s true colors? She was a Callahan after all. Someone to steer clear of. Naomi would do just that. But first, she needed to come up with a way to deal with that sinking feeling in her gut.
She straightened her spine and, for a split second, considered listening at the door. Maybe seeing her leave had made Eileen change her mind. Maybe she’d throw open the door and apologize for her unfounded anger. But Naomi didn’t hear anything. No sniffling and no footsteps. Everything was deadly silent on the other side of the door. So she slunk off, hurt and defeated, with no more room for Christmas cheer in her heart.
Chapter Twenty-Three
On a chilly December day, Eileen entered the Boston newsroom and looked around. When she’d started working for the company in the US, in what seemed like a different lifetime, this office had hummed with people clacking away on computer keyboards, and chatting about stories they were working on. There’d been only a handful of televisions.
Now, the space had been renovated and transformed into wall-to-wall TV news hell. Yes, that was the word for it.
Mounted overhead were many screens showcasing various American politicians fielding questions from pundits and newscasters. A live shot of the empty James S. Brady Press Briefing Room. Stock market updates. Replays of all the past weekend’s sporting events. An illuminated map of the world with clocks indicating the current time in all the zones. And several screens filled with European news broadcasts.
Each employee had at least two computer screens on their desk.
“Whoa, information overload,” she muttered under her breath.
“Is that Eileen Makenna?”
Eileen wheeled about. “Seth Quigley!” Squinting, she asked, “Is it really you?”
The lanky man crossed the room in five long strides, and wrapped Eileen in a bear hug, lifting her briefly off the floor. “I didn’t know I’d see you today.” He broke off the hug, but kept his massive hands on each of her shoulders. “I thought you were stationed in London these days.”
“I’m stateside for a bit for the holidays.”
“Christ, it’s good to see you. How long has it been?”
Eileen took a second to recall. “Iraq, I think. Back in 2004.”
He grinned, displaying his yellowed smoker’s teeth. “That’s right. Do you remember those cots and scratchy blankets provided by the Marines?” He shivered. “And all the action. There’s nothing like covering a war to make you feel alive.” He beat his chest with a fist, three times. “I still have nightmares about it.” The twinkle in his eyes was difficult to reconcile with the sentiment of the statement.
Except Eileen understood completely. Only those who’d undergone what they’d experienced together could comprehend.
“Getting the truth to the world, though, is worth it.” Seth squeezed her left shoulder as if he needed her support to find the right words, seeming to fail nonetheless. His eyes clouded over. “Now, it seems the frontlines are here. The battle against the fake news smear.” He shook his head, a smile sliding back into place. “God, it’s good to see you.”
“Are you staying in the US, then?” Eileen asked.
He shook his head. “Thankfully, no. Heading to Syria.”
Eileen whistled. “Stay safe.”
He belly laughed. “That’s the goal, but when heading into hell, you never know what’s going to happen. Any chance I can convince you to come with me? You’re one of the best. Think of the prizes we’d nab if we joined forces again.”
“Wish I could… it’s just not in the cards right now.” Eileen pivoted her body to hide her right flank.
“That’s right. I heard you were on leave.” Someone across the newsroom waved both arms overhead to get his attention. “Gotta run, Ellie. If you change your mind, you can find me wherever all hell is breaking loose.”
Eileen called out, “Remember, Quigley. You’re supposed to report on the news, not cause it.”
He waved yeah yeah over his shoulder.
Kris, who must be in her fifties now and was wearing her age well, sidled up to Eileen. “He’ll never change.”
Eileen agreed. “The world needs a hundred more like him. How are you, Kris?”
Kris, in black slacks, crimson cardigan, and white blouse—her typical office attire—said, “Better now that you’re here.”
“Such a sweet-talker, you.”
“Have you outgrown it?” Kris stepped closer to Eileen, pressing her shoulder into Eileen’s. “I seem to remember you liking it a lot in the past.”
Eileen fought the urge to break away, the thought of Naomi entering her mind. She wanted to speak to her, but was pretty sure Naomi wouldn’t welcome any contact after all the hurtful things Eileen had tossed at her. “Is this appropriate now? In the workplace? Seems to be a lot of hoopla about it in the news.”
“How would you know? You’ve been hiding in… what’s the name of that one-horse-town you’re from? Besides, we happened when we worked for competitors.”
The one-horse phrase ripped through Eileen, reminding her of saying those exact words to Naomi, when she ruthlessly pushed the young woman away. Eileen regretted letting her mom get into her head like she was a scared child, but she had never been good at saying sorry and owning up. “Funnily enough, it’s actually called One-Horse-Town.”
“That is funny. You haven’t changed one bit. There’s hope for the future yet.”
“Because I haven’t cha
nged?”
“You’re one of the good ones, so yes, it’s good to know you still have fighting spirit. How are you doing? Really?” Kris stared intently at Eileen’s arm, making it clear she wanted the truth.
“It’s… getting better.”
Kris folded her arms, slitting her eyes. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. I was in London when it… happened. I visited you in the hospital, for crying out loud. So, how is it?”
Eileen sighed. “Slowly. It’s getting better, slowly.”
“The big man is in Beantown and wants to speak with you.”
“That’s why you summoned me? I had wished he’d be in London or any of the other fifty cities checking on his minions?” Eileen glanced around the newsroom, in search of the distinctive white hair of Ray Steffens.
Kris shook her head. “You aren’t the only one thinking the worse, given all the recent layoffs in the business. But it’s actually good news, for once. He’s here to hire eight more journalists and an editor to cover the 2020 elections, which should be ramping up soon. The American political circus is turning out to be a boon for the media business. Go figure.”
Eileen had never cared for domestic news, let alone in the political sphere. “What about you? Are you staying in Boston for long? Or heading back to the London office?”
“Boston for the next year or so. But who knows. In this business, when news happens, we all drop everything and converge on the next hot spot. It’s tiring. I’m not young like you.” She waggled her brows over her nerdy black-framed glasses.
Eileen chuckled. “Yes, I’m still in my forties for another few months.”
“Forty is the new thirty. And fifty is the new forty. Haven’t you heard?”
Eileen swallowed a nasty comment about how her thirty-year-old body hadn’t failed her.
Kris straightened. “You might as well get it over with. Mr. Steffens is heading right for you.”
“How much have you told him?” Eileen whispered.
“I haven’t said a thing. You’ll need to put on your big girl pants and handle it. Today.” She gave Eileen her no-nonsense stare.
Eileen shot Kris a steely-eyed look.
Kris dished it back.
“Ellie Bean! I’m so glad you came in today. Let’s go to my office. And, Kris Cross, can you come up when I’m done with Ellie?” Their boss never broke his stride, expecting Eileen to fall in line, tailing him to his office at the top of the stairs.
“Yes, sir,” Kris, rolled her eyes over the use of her nickname, as she spoke to his retreating back. She gave Eileen a supportive you can do it smile.
Eileen sensed all eyes watching their retreat as Mr. Steffens, a man more than two decades older than her, charged up, taking two steps at a time. Eileen did her best to keep up, but the man had six inches on her, not to mention she was willing to wager he’d never suffered from a cold, let alone a stroke.
Inside his office, which was almost as large as Naomi’s apartment in Derby, Mr. Steffens motioned for Eileen to take a seat on a burgundy couch. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m still on London time, so if you don’t object, I’m going to have a nip of brandy.”
Mr. Steffens was constantly flying all over the world checking in on all his media outlets. His plane logged more miles than most commercial crafts.
After pouring a dram of brandy into a snifter, Mr. Steffens took a seat on the couch facing Eileen. He unbuttoned his dark gray suit vest and loosened his powdered-blue tie. “So, you ready to get back to work?”
“Very soon, yes.”
“Define soon.” He inhaled the scent from the brandy, but didn’t take a sip yet, as if he’d enjoyed the process of pouring and holding the drink more than imbibing.
She met his eyes. “I’m still hoping to be back in January.”
He held her gaze. “Can you hand me today’s newspaper edition? It’s on the table right behind you.”
Eileen reached for it with her left hand and extended her arm over the coffee table to hand it to him.
“Hold this for me?” Mr. Steffens attempted to hand off the snifter.
Eileen momentarily froze, then opted to drop the newspaper onto the seat next to him and grabbed the glass with her good hand.
“That’s what I thought. I’d heard rumors, you see.” He motioned for Eileen to relinquish his glass, which she did. He took a thoughtful sip. “Can you even hold a pencil with that one?” Mr. Steffens gestured to her arm.
“I—”
“Listen. I get why you didn’t want to come forward completely. This is a cutthroat business. But not disclosing the true nature of your injury—I thought we knew each other better than this.” His eyes softened. “I understand, though, really I do. My mom had a stroke and dammit if she didn’t want to tell a soul, either.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your mother. I didn’t know.”
“If you had, would you have come to me sooner?” His striking sapphire eyes nearly burned a hole into her forehead as if he were using mind powers to rip the truth out of her.
“I—”
“Probably not. If it makes you feel better, my mother is still just as stubborn as you are and she’s nearing one hundred.”
Did Mr. Steffens just compare Eileen to a woman almost in the triple digits? “That’s wonderful.”
He plowed on, not picking up on Eileen’s stiffening posture. “We can’t put you into the field with that.” Mr. Steffens waved to her arm. “A shame. You’d be a great addition to Jiggly Quigley’s team.” Taking another sip, he stared over Eileen’s head. “However, I’m here to beef up our coverage of the upcoming election.”
Eileen braced herself for the one assignment she’d never wanted. Taking puff photos of preening politicians.
“We need more op-ed pieces, as well.” He stroked the two-day stubble on his chin. “With your experiences from all over the world, you truly understand the plights of migrants and immigrants. And, I think you should pen your memoirs.” He got up strolled to his desk, and rifled through the desk drawers. “Here. Take this.”
He tossed her a small recording device, which she caught with her good hand. “I know many use their phones these days, but I used that when I was working on my memoir last year. Maybe it’ll bring you luck or inspiration. Both perhaps. And, it’ll be a hell of a lot faster than typing with one hand.” He retook his seat, picking up the snifter again. “What else can we do to help you with your recovery?”
“Uh…?” It wasn’t unusual for Mr. Steffens to jump from one subject to the next, making decisions as he went along. Still, Eileen wasn’t sure if this was really happening. Op-eds. She’d occasionally written pieces when the company was in a bind, but never as a full-time gig. Truth be told, she’d enjoyed writing, but never considered it as a logical next step in her professional life. Could it be? If need be. She’d miss traveling. Or could she still travel in this new position? Perhaps that was something to bring up later.
His eyes softened. “Ellie, you’ve been with us since leaving college and I damn well know you had offers from competitors.” He put his hand up to stop her from interrupting, although she was not inclined to do so. “You stuck with me through thick and thin. You’ve won awards. You volunteered for the shittiest assignments, not to mention the most dangerous. This is when you ask me to help you. Besides, my mom would box my ears if I didn’t.” He laughed, his kind eyes showing he meant every word.
Eileen held the recorder up with her good hand. “This is enough. Truly. I thought you’d fire or force me out when you found out the whole truth. Not give me a new assignment.”
“Glad to see my reputation for being an asshole is still going strong. Do me a favor. Don’t tell anyone I’m actually a softie. Let them”—he motioned to the team on the newsroom one floor below—“think I gave you hell.”
“Will do.” She rose.
“I expect your first piece in one week. You can work from Derby. Famil
y. If they’re anything like mine they’re driving you batty, but… they hopefully mean well.”
Eileen’s mind flittered to Naomi.
“By the way, the photos in The Derby Gazette were good, considering. You’re still a photographer. Always will be. And, you’re a stubborn shit. I wouldn’t put it past you to beat this so you can charge back into war zones with your camera.”
Eileen’s brain tried to process everything. He hadn’t fired her, but instead he’d offered her a desk job. How would she adjust? Although, what was the other option? Quit and do nothing? He’d left the possibility open for her to return to photography while keeping her employed, giving her body the time it needed to recover.
“Can you send up Kris Cross?” He marched to his desk, picking up the phone receiver.
On the other side of the closed door, Eileen wondered how in the hell Mr. Steffens knew about her photos in the tiny newspaper. Did he ever sleep?
Kris approached. “How’d it go?” she asked.
“I’m an op-ed contributor now.”
“Ohh… look at you, Miss Fancy Pants.” Her teasing smile faded. With a hand on the doorknob, she proclaimed, “My turn.”
As Eileen descended the staircase, she wished she could call Naomi to celebrate, but after she’d acted like such an ass the other day, she doubted the one person she really wanted to tell would bother taking her call.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Naomi wrapped her fingers around her coffee cup. Her mom had added a dash of cinnamon, just the way she liked it.
Sophia wasn’t the type of woman to flat-out ask Naomi to talk to her about whatever was bugging her, but Naomi could tell from the look on her face that she was more than ready to have a much-needed conversation with her youngest daughter.
Naomi cleared her throat. Her mother stowed away the last of the ingredients she’d used to bake Naomi’s favorite apple pie. The pie was in the oven and the kitchen was already starting to fill with the irresistible smell of what was to come.