Exchange

by CF Frizzell

She waved him over to her guest chair. “There’s more to this damn nightmare that you need to know. I should have told you sooner.” You’re not the only one.

  “Told me what? We’re a well-oiled machine here, Mel. We’ll survive this.”

  “You’re sweet to say that, and I couldn’t be happier or luckier than to have you on board, but I’ve neglected you. See…this naïve college girl made a very wrong, very long-term decision many years ago that she can’t undo. And today, unfortunately, it affects you.”

  “Oh. So, let me think. You need cash for the secret love child you’ve hidden away?”

  Mel smiled at his levity. “Not a bad guess. Her name is the Tomson Chronicle.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “You already know my grandfather was the founder, that he handed it down to my father, and then—”

  “He refused to be tied down here and hired an outsider to run it. And then came you.”

  “Right. It’s mine, free and clear, when I turn thirty next March.”

  “I know all that, Mel.” He frowned and leaned forward. “What don’t I know?”

  Mel took a breath. “Provided I stay in the closet.”

  He sat back hard. “Whoa. Shit. You’re kidding.”

  “I wish.”

  “All this time, I had no idea.” He sat forward again. “You agreed to this?”

  “I was twenty-two, looking at a dream come true, my own newspaper, and thought I was clever enough to live under his radar until the inheritance became official.”

  “For eight years?”

  “Sad to say, but there are many in the gay community who’ve gone far longer.” She paused to summon difficult memories long-since locked away. “I was a total mess from a relationship gone terribly bad, your classic emotional wreck for months. He took advantage of my youth, my vulnerability, just to hide his ‘deviant’ daughter. At the time, I’d given up on every goddamn thing. I didn’t care about living. Hell, when you think you’re going to die from heartache anyway, you don’t care. It’s easy to do something crazy.”

  “Like make a deal with the devil.”

  Mel nodded. “I convinced myself it would be worth it in the long run. I’d keep the paper in the family and have a future I’d be proud of. The problem is, my father’s always been a bigoted fool, and it was well after the fact when I actually began to feel the impact of what he’d done…what I’d done.” She leaned back in her chair and hoped her words wouldn’t send him out the door for good. “He threatened to sell the Chronicle if the Baker name is ‘tarnished,’ if I don’t stick to the straight-and-narrow.” Mike’s eyes widened. “And you know as well as I that the Tribune will buy it to kill it and eliminate the competition.”

  He flexed his shoulders and readjusted himself in the chair. Mel couldn’t imagine his thoughts now, with his livelihood on the brink of disappearing. She knew she’d write him the finest letters of reference in the world, make phone calls, personal visits, anything, but none of it would make up for jeopardizing this job he loved.

  “I can’t believe it.” He folded his hands on his head, dumbfounded. “Does Shay know?”

  “No. If she thought her arrival in my life led to losing the Chronicle, I-I have no idea what she’d do. As it is, she’s furious that talk about us is costing the paper revenue. I don’t want her feeling guilty, shouldering the blame.”

  “But she— Mel, you have to tell her.”

  “Believe me, I know. I’m not proud of any of it. I’ve been trying to gather up the courage, and the timing’s been horrible lately.”

  “Look, what about your mother? She’s awesome. She’d help, right? She cannot side with your father.”

  “Mom is the only other person who knows. She’s nowhere near as closed-minded as he is, but she stays quiet. Dad’s…well, he’s a very old-school, domineering man.”

  “Obviously. Hmm. So let me get this straight: he subjugates his daughter for the ‘family name’ yet doesn’t care enough about his legacy to keep it in the family? I have to say, Mel, he’s fucked up.”

  “It’s bad, I know, and I’m as much to blame. And now—”

  “And now he’s coming here, with talk of you and Shay all over town and just eight months left on your sentence.”

  “The single rumor that grew,” she reflected, toying with her pen. “All because I went with my heart for the first time in…I don’t remember when. Hearing why we lost Turner and Home Depot just made me blind mad at them and their attitudes, at Dad, at myself. I hated being so helpless and bullied into servicing them all—servicing my own goddamn agreement—all while I watch this love I’ve found twist in the wind.” She shook her head.

  Mike went to the window and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  “Whether you lose it or find it,” he said toward the passing traffic, “love can take charge.”

  “I’ve had nightmares of Shay leaving Tomson, of me making yet another colossal mistake. I had to step up.”

  He turned to her, his baffled expression painful to see. “You were just months away, Mel.” He exhaled hard. “Jesus Christ. He’d really sell us off?”

  “It’s his trump card.”

  “Goddamn it!” He pounded the wall. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

  “I suppose Dad could have had some epiphany since I saw him at Christmas and won’t flip out, but…”

  The phone at her elbow rang and she jumped. She looked from it to Mike.

  “Take it,” he said quietly. “I’ve got photos to crop.”

  She watched him leave for his workroom, his head down. A now-familiar chill crossed her shoulders. Shit. She answered the phone on the fourth ring.

  “Good morning, Tomson Chronicle.”

  “Hello, Melissa. This is Mae Sullivan at Chandler Construction.”

  “Oh, hello, Mae.”

  “So terrible, your house fire. So sad to hear. You and your grandma are okay, though?”

  The image of a vengeful Ed Chandler popped to mind. “Yes, thanks. We were very lucky. What can I do for you?”

  “Just calling on Ed’s behalf. He and his attorney would like to sit with you today, go over some revised elements of the Heights project, if you can spare some time.”

  Mel felt her mind twist, squeeze ahead of her heart. Revised? Damn, that’s big. But time? What’s that? “Of course, Mae. This has become an awful week for me, as I’m sure you can imagine, but if they could stop by later this afternoon?”

  “I’ll let them know. You take care now.”

  “Thank you, Mae. You, too.”

  She hung up and scanned her to-do list, searching for a time slot for the interview, the related phone calls, the writing required for such a substantial piece. You offered. He most likely won’t even mention the fire.

  “Morning, newspeople!”

  Mel’s correspondent, Ida, jingled through the front door, set her tote bag on Mike’s desk, and began rummaging through it. Yet another person who needs to know the score.

  “What’ve you got for me?”

  “Well, I have a piece on Marie’s total redo of the diner’s menu. She’s adding tons of that vegan stuff, Lord knows why. And I did my first official personality interview! The new trainer out at Gronlund’s ranch is a hunk!” Mel rolled her eyes as Ida slapped a flash drive onto the blotter. “Even took a couple of pictures. Hope Mike doesn’t mind.”

  “You saved us. Great job.”

  “I went by the sheriff’s office for the log, like you asked. Your Shay Maguire is sure making a name for herself, Mel. She’s mentioned in a few places.”

  My Shay Maguire? She raised an eyebrow at the cavalier assumption.

  “She’s the spokesperson for the fair.”

  Ida hurried into Mel’s guest chair. “So gimme the scoop. You two really dating?”

  “Wow. Some interview technique.”

  “That’s just the word around town. I didn’t know that you, I mean—”

  “Was I supposed to broadcast to the damn town
that I’m gay?”

  Ida sat back. “Well, no, Mel. I just didn’t know.”

  Mel took a breath. “Sorry to snap. Yes, we’ve become very special to each other. I don’t expect it’s going over too well in town, but folks will simply have to adjust, won’t they?” She snickered. Until very recently, she never would have considered such a thought, let alone voiced it. “The Chronicle has always been my priority, and I live every damn day trying to keep readers and advertisers happy, but I’ve never given any priority to my personal life before.”

  Ida giggled. “Before Shay.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well,” Ida whispered, “she is tall, dark, and handsome.”

  “She certainly is.”

  “A great smile and a sexy bod, especially in boots and jeans.” Ida squirmed in the chair. “I’ve read some novels about women like her. Pretty hot stuff.”

  God, spare me, please.

  “‘Women like her’? We’re all the same inside, remember.”

  Ida guffawed. “Not like her, we’re not! Come on, Mel. That deep voice? Those hunky shoulders? And a Harley, no less.” She bent so far forward, her ample bosom touched the desktop. “It’s not the same as a guy’s, but she’s quite the package, if you catch my drift.” She fanned herself with her hand as she stood. “Phew! See? Boy, even I’m getting all worked up.”

  Mel really needed to wipe the perspiration from her forehead but didn’t dare call attention to her body’s reaction. And she appreciated feeling relieved, even a bit emboldened by Ida’s obvious glee.

  “But, Mel, I have to warn you. Some folks are all turned around by it. Honestly, I don’t quite understand it myself, but that’s your business, not mine.”

  “And not the town’s either. As I told Dick Turner a little while back, it has nothing to do with business or how townspeople interact. It’s about respect for others. Some people have forgotten that that’s how we all were raised.”

  Ida’s expression lightened. “You know, I like that. Very well put.”

  Mel pointed to her chair and Ida sat. She had to broach the painful subject of her father and the Chronicle again, and it hurt to think Shay could be the last to know the score.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  When she drove up to her homestead, exhausted at ten o’clock Wednesday morning, Mel fell into speechless shock. Her parents and Nana bemoaned the charred siding and naked roof joists, while Mel scoured her memory for a previous conversation about repairs. Obviously, they had begun.

  “Honey,” her mother began from the back seat, “I thought you said the insurance check was due tomorrow.”

  “It is. All this is a surprise to me. I haven’t been able to get out here because of work.”

  Her father stole looks at the house as he helped Nana from the car. “Well, thank God it’s not all that bad, Connie. At least someone’s been tending to it.”

  The snide comment registered, but Mel shoved it aside as she walked around the structure, still gazing upward at new wood. In the backyard, an overloaded twenty-yard construction bin sat beside the shed’s blackened fieldstone foundation. All other remnants of the building were gone.

  Surprised as she was, the one person she suspected came to mind automatically. Her entire system surged at the idea of taking Shay to new heights, and she was shocked by her body’s physical reaction. She crossed her arms over her chest firmly, her nipples insisting on being noticed, and stared up at the new window frames in her bedroom.

  “Lissa, you didn’t authorize this work?” her father asked, still supporting Nana by the elbow.

  “Well, no, but I’m pretty sure I know who’s behind it. My friends are amazing.”

  She met Nana’s eyes and could read the irritation.

  “Don’t forget that your grandmother has many friends in town. It could be any or all of them,” her father said.

  Nana turned to her, chin raised. “So where are your friends now?”

  “Maybe they’ve given us some privacy for our first look,” Mel offered, and knew a battle was in the offing. “Maybe they’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “We’ll see,” Nana said.

  “Well, honey,” and her mother squeezed Mel’s arm, “I can’t wait to meet them, whoever they are. Such generosity.”

  Thank you, Mom.

  Mel followed her father into the kitchen and was surprised that the smell of smoke did not overpower them. Two walls in the kitchen had been stripped to the studs and the back staircase was about to be assembled. New wide pine flooring had yet to be sanded and finished.

  Her mother stood with Nana in the back doorway while Mel and her father roamed the downstairs. He seemed impressed. She definitely was.

  “Wish we could get upstairs,” he mumbled. He eyed the ladder in the corner and wasted no time setting it into the opening on the second floor. He climbed up with Mel right behind him.

  They examined the hallway, Mel’s vast bedroom, its adjoining bath, and the new drop-down hatch for the attic. Plywood, drop lights, bundles of studs, stacks of drywall were everywhere.

  “You’re a very lucky lady,” her father said. “I still can’t get over that you were not here to prevent this.” He turned to her directly. “You’ve pushed your limitations since you were a little girl, but this…This irresponsibility goes far beyond excusable. Your grandmother could have been killed.”

  Here we go. Mel nodded and slowly turned to leave, but he took her upper arm firmly.

  “I’m talking to you, Melissa. Do you realize what could have happened here? Maybe you don’t.”

  At the limit of her stamina and patience, Mel met his glare evenly. “What do you think, Dad?”

  She backed out of his grip and felt just as hollow as the sound of her footsteps on the new plywood. If only her mother had come alone.

  They settled back into the car, and her father muttered and sighed at the house as they drove away.

  “Once we drop Mom and Nana off at the hotel, we’re going to see Louie Madden,” her father declared. “You and I should hear what he’s got to say.”

  “Dad, I can’t. I told you I spoke with the chief this morning and they aren’t finished with the investigation yet. I have to get back to the office. I’m on deadline.”

  He flailed a hand in the air. “Just when are you going to take charge of this mess, Melissa?”

  “It’s out of my hands at the moment. Besides, who’ll put out next week’s paper?”

  He turned in his seat. “You know, your grandmother implied you’d changed your priorities lately, and obviously, she was right.”

  Mel glanced at Nana in the rearview mirror and found her looking out the window.

  “Please don’t start. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I have a job to do. And I intend to do it.”

  “It’s more important than putting a roof over your grandmother’s head? Your own? The Chronicle will do just fine if it’s a day or so late. This is your priority.”

  “The Chronicle has never been late and never will be, as long as I can help it. I have obligations to publish on time. Legal advertisements are date-sensitive. You know I can’t just drop the ball.”

  “Get off your high horse, and stop reaching.”

  Steam built as Mel struggled for control. “I told you on the phone, when Mom first said you were coming in today, that it was terrible timing for me, but you wouldn’t wait. Not a day. What do you expect to accomplish that isn’t already being done?”

  “To have someone here who gives a goddamn about the Baker name. Someone I can trust. You’ve lost that.”

  “Fine. Do what you want. I’m dropping you off at the River House and going back to work. Wednesdays are all-nighters for me, so I’m sorry, but I won’t be free for dinner.”

  Her mother reached forward and set a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not convinced it’s safe for you there all night, Melissa. Nana told us about the window. And now there’s this.”

  “I’ll be fine, Mom, honest.”


  “Well, will you come to the hotel for brunch, then?”

  “Yes, Mom.” If I can stay awake that long.

  “Nice of you to make it,” her father sniped. He swore out the window before making the last point Mel cared to consider. “And I want to know who the hell’s been roaming around the house.”

  “You mean working?”

  “I want to meet them face-to-face. Who knows what you’ve got going on.”

  *

  It was almost one a.m., but Shay sat on the Softail, thinking, before going into the Chronicle. The window at Mel’s desk revealed a room bustling with activity and cast the only light in the downtown district, save the overhead lamp four blocks away at the Exchange’s door. She wished she could bring Mel there for a quick beer and a few moments of peace. Instead, she watched her dart between desks, check computer screens, sit and type, shuffle through papers, and then cross the room again in an endless, tiresome dance.

  The voice mail she’d received in the maintenance barn that morning kept replaying in her head. Mel’s voice, weary and a bit breathless, was both overjoyed and distraught. Mel was blown away by Shay’s surprise. And battered by her father.

  Shay sighed as she shifted weary muscles and her leather seat creaked in the quiet night. She needed to hold Mel for just a moment, reassure her that she wasn’t alone and that things would work out.

  Shay was hell-bent that they would. She’d taken half-days off from the ranch yesterday and today and worked on the Baker homestead till very early each morning. Coby, Misty, Doran, and Keary did as well, when they could get away from the Exchange. After four o’clock each afternoon, several Five Star guys had joined in, brought supplies and more power tools they’d “borrowed” from the barn. At this rate, Shay figured the house could be occupied by Sunday. Insurance check be damned.

  Father be damned.

  She opened the office door, and the jingling bells gave her away. Shoulders drooping heavily over the paperwork on her blotter, Mel looked up, her honey complexion shadowy with fatigue, ponytail askew. She rushed around the desk and into Shay’s arms.

  “Oh God, I love you!”

  Shay wrapped her as fully to her chest as her arms would reach. I need this as much as you do, Mel, more and more each day.