by Meg Muldoon
His eyes softened and he let me see a rare glimpse of vulnerability. For someone like Sam, I knew that showing me that wasn’t easy. And it made me love him all the more for it.
Though I seemed to have trouble telling him that.
“I won’t let you fall,” I said, wrapping my arms around him. “I promise.”
He leaned his chin against the top of my head.
“Sam?” I said.
“Yeah, Freddie?”
“Don’t ever let me go.”
He held me tightly.
The whole world felt as though it was sparkling like the inside of a champagne bottle.
I didn’t like the feeling of falling so fast for someone.
But it was beyond my control, now.
I hadn’t told him that I loved him yet.
But it was obvious to me that for all intents and purposes, ace reporter Freddie Wolf was cooked.
Chapter 4
“Sorry, everybody.”
I stumbled into the room and hurriedly took a seat at the large board room table, hoping that no one would notice that I was fifteen minutes late for the city desk meeting.
Unfortunately, everyone in that room just so happened to be in the business of noticing things.
I looked up to see that all eyes were on me, as if I’d just announced I was giving up journalism to go start a goat farm in Idaho.
And of all the stares, Roger Kobritz’s was the most severe.
“You truly must work on your punctuality, Ms. Wolf,” the managing news editor said in a steely tone, brushing his whiskers and leaning forward in his chair. “You haven’t been on time to a single meeting in the last four and a half weeks.”
I felt my cheeks burn, and it wasn’t because it had been a chilly run across the paper’s parking lot a few moments earlier.
I slowly took off my pumpkin-colored plaid scarf and thought about how to respond.
My initial gut reaction was to defend myself. True – I’d been late to several of the meetings this month, mostly because of interviews that had run over their allotted time frames. Not because of any personal reason.
“I know I’ve been late a lot this past month,” I finally said, deciding just to swallow the bitter pill rather than whining about it. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time.”
He grunted and turned his attention to the agenda sheet in front of him.
Things hadn’t been quite right between my boss and me since I turned the crime reporter job down, opting to stay where I was on the general assignment beat, a.k.a., the dog beat. I knew Kobritz had just wanted me to take the position that I was most qualified for. But dating a police lieutenant and being the paper’s sole crime reporter would have been too much of a conflict of interest in my view. It was already difficult enough as it was to keep from committing any breaches of ethics because I was dating Sam, and I was still just a general assignment reporter who mostly covered dog parades and puff pieces.
But Kobritz hadn’t liked that I turned down the job. And he’d made that abundantly clear, lately.
Though maybe his bad attitude of recent weeks didn’t necessarily have as much to do with me as I thought. According to office gossip, Kobritz and his wife were going through a rough patch.
“Do you have any Sunday enterprise story ideas to share with us today, Ms. Wolf?” he said, looking up at me and tapping the agenda sheet in front of him with the eraser end of his pencil.
Enterprise story planning was never fun. They were called “enterprise” because they were supposed to be thought-provoking, in-depth articles that were groundbreaking in some way. Unfortunately, in a town as small as Dog Mountain, finding a subject worthy of these kinds of articles wasn’t easy.
I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling the heat of everyone’s eyes on me. I stole a quick glance around the room.
Rachael Chandler, who was the reporter that Kobritz couldn’t quite shake because she was related to the owners of the paper, was shooting me her usual nasty glare. Scott Appleton, a 40-something who acted like a teenager most of the time, was eyeing me with an amused expression, probably enjoying the fact that my tardiness had gotten me into trouble. Carrie Kessinger, the hardnosed, chain-smoking county reporter, had a pair of sunglasses on and could have been sleeping behind them for all anybody knew. Jennifer Helt, the single mom who often fought with her ex-husband for long stretches on the phone for all the office to hear, was pulling hard caramel gunk from her teeth that had come from a candy apple lollypop. Erik Royce, the new crime reporter hired from a paper up in Washington state, looked at me from behind bulky glasses with placid, still eyes that always seemed to carry a hint of superiority.
And Jimmy Brewer, the photographer who covered most of the local stories, gazed at me from across the table with bright, puppy dog eyes that would make even the most unfeeling of girls a little weak in the knees.
I know those eyes had done that to me once.
But I knew better than to believe in anything those baby blues had to say these days.
“Ms. Wolf? Enterprise ideas?”
I glanced back at Kobritz.
“Uh, sorry,” I mumbled. “Well, I have that dog poop in school yards story for Sunday A1 this weekend.”
Hardly one with a sophisticated sense of humor, Scott started giggling like an adolescent when I said “dog poop,” like he didn’t have that receding hairline or crow’s feet around his eyes.
“Yes, Ms. Wolf,” Kobritz said. “I know that. We scheduled that story already. What other enterprise story ideas do you have?”
Lately it seemed that whatever I brought to the table just wasn’t good enough.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.
“Well, this isn’t exactly an enterprise piece, but it’s easily a Sunday A1 story,” I said. “I wanted to write a feature on Hal Parker. You know, the retired director for the Food Bank of the Willamette and long-time member of the Dog Mountain School District Board?”
Kobrtiz stroked his whiskers in a displeased manner.
“And just what is so interesting about Mr. Parker?”
“Well, most people haven’t really taken notice, but he’s one of the few effective members of the school board. He’s done more than anybody to address the child poverty issues in Dog Mountain schools over the last 16 years, and he’s gained a reputation as someone who sticks up for educators. Hal’s coming to the end of his final term this year, and I think he’s worth an in-depth profile piece.”
Kobritz furrowed his brow.
“Wasn’t Mr. Parker behind the Afterschool Pups Program that failed miserably a few years back?”
I shrugged.
The Pups Program hadn’t been a half-bad idea. Basing the concept on stories he’d read about prison inmates benefitting from training rescue dogs, Hal Parker lobbied for and secured funding to hold a similar program for at-risk, troubled kids in the Dog Mountain School District. With parental approval, certain kids in the district had been given a shelter dog and an allowance for its care costs. The students met afterschool twice a week in an old district-owned building on the south side of town, and were taught about pet responsibility, among other life skills. The program was commended by the superintendent as innovative, and many thought the program could be replicated in other school districts across the country.
But when one of the rescue dogs badly injured a student during a meeting, the school district immediately shut the program down.
And Hal’s good idea blew up in his face for everybody to see.
“Yes, he was responsible for that,” I said. “But I think that incident would give some added depth to the story. He’s not perfect, but at least he’s stood up for something during his time on the school board. That’s something few of his fellow board members could say. Additionally, that dog angle will hook a lot of readers for the story.”
I threw that last part in in hopes that it would appeal to Kobritz’s keen sense of local readership’s obsessive interest with Fido.
“I’
m fairly certain we’ve written something about Hal Parker in the last couple of years,” Kobritz said sternly.
I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair.
“I checked the archives. Nobody’s written a feature piece about Hal.”
Kobritz stared at me for a long moment, and then looked back down at the agenda in front of him.
“I’ll pencil the story in for the middle of this month,” he reluctantly mumbled.
“Okay,” I said, distantly.
I was beginning to get really fed up with the way Kobritz was acting toward me lately.
He finally moved on to Rachael without casting another look my way.
“Ms. Chandler? What sort of brilliant story ideas do you have up your sleeve?”
Rachael quit scowling at me and turned white as a ghost.
“Well…” she stalled.
Since her demotion from top dog crime reporter to news assistant, the red headed journalist’s list of story ideas had disappeared faster than a pool of water in the Sahara. Much of that had to do with the fact that she was no longer carrying on her affair with the Dog Mountain police chief who had been her “source” for most of her stories. Kobritz had found out about her licentious behavior this past July, and had brought the moral transgression up to Janet Chandler, the paper’s owner and Rachael’s aunt. Most reporters would have been outright fired for doing what Rachael had done. But since she was related to the family that owned the paper, she got off with a demotion. Embarrassing as it was, most of the other reporters on the desk resented the fact that she wasn’t fired. After all, someone who did what she did to get a story obviously had absolutely no ethics, and couldn’t be trusted ever again.
“I, uh, well…” she stammered again, looking around the room. “I’m going to have to get back to you on that.”
The glares she was getting from her fellow reporters almost made me feel sorry for her.
Almost.
“Fine,” Kobritz grumbled, clearly unhappy with not only Rachael, but the rest of us, too. “I suppose that brings this long-suffering meeting to a merciful end.”
He stood up, collecting his papers and his phone, and quickly left the boardroom. The rest of us started following suit.
“So, Freddie, how come you were late again?” Scott said, still pleased as pie that I’d gotten into trouble.
“Lost track of time,” I said.
He grinned a big, yellow-teethed grin.
“And, uh, I’m sure the Lieutenant had nothing to do with that,” he said.
I felt like smacking that smart-ass expression off of his face.
For the most part, I got along with Scott. But every once and a while, the immature reporter felt more like an obnoxious older brother than a co-worker and friend.
“Well, either way, it’s none of your business, now is it?” I shot back.
He giggled and headed out the door back to his messy desk. I collected my purse and got up to leave, overhearing the rest of the reporters’ conversations as I did.
“Hey Jimmy, how many months does Kathryn have to go now?” Jennifer asked.
I almost dropped my bag at overhearing the question.
I shot a quick glance over at Jimmy. His eyes were damn near brimming with joy.
“Two months,” he said. “Two months before I get a chance to see that little guy’s face.”
He grinned.
“And I tell you, I can’t wait. Kathryn can’t either. I think she’s had it with being pregnant.”
He met my gaze for a split second when he said her name.
My stomach lurched, and I quickly looked away. I headed for the door, trying to get out of there before I could hear any more of the conversation.
But I was too slow.
“I hear ya,” Jennifer said. “After being pregnant with William, I don’t think I’d want to go through any of that again.”
She stood up.
“Well, it must be hard for her being in a new town and not knowing anybody. You know if Kathryn ever needs somebody to get a decaf tea with or something, let her know I’d be happy to anytime.”
“Aw, she’d really appreciate that,” Jimmy said. “I’ll let her know. Maybe she could come by the newsroom sometime next week and you guys could set something up?”
I felt my breath catch in my throat.
I practically ran the length of the hallway back to my desk to keep from hearing any more.
Chapter 5
It wasn’t easy working day in and day out with your ex-boyfriend.
Even if I couldn’t exactly call Jimmy my ex.
Because in order for me to use that term, he would have had to have been my boyfriend in the first place. And we hadn’t ever quite gotten to that point – not officially, anyway.
Jimmy Brewer had been my best friend. For a long while there, he’d had my heart. And for a short few weeks after he’d broken up with his then steady girlfriend, Kathryn, I thought I’d had his too.
But I’d been wrong. As was clearly evident by the fact that he was now married to Kathryn, and they were expecting their first child together.
I’d come back home to Dog Mountain from Portland in part to get away from Jimmy Brewer and all the heartbreak that he’d caused. But fate had had something else in store. This July, Jimmy applied for a photography job at The Dog Mountain Chronicle. He’d been laid off from the paper we’d both worked at in Portland and was in desperate need of a job. Kathryn was pregnant, and he needed a salary and benefits. And quick.
And while I could have easily poisoned Kobritz and the rest of the newsroom against hiring the photographer, I’d chosen to take the high road. I hadn’t sabotaged his chances or his livelihood, and Jimmy Brewer was hired by the paper.
In the months since, I’d had conflicting feelings about what I had done, or more like, what I hadn’t done. For the most part, Jimmy steered clear of me. Most of the time, he avoided eye contact and hardly said anything to me when he was assigned to shoot my stories unless he absolutely had to. When the news staff would meet up to grab a beer after work sometimes, Jimmy always found a way of sitting at the farthest possible spot away from me.
Part of me liked that he stayed away. Another part felt strangely hurt by it, though I didn’t understand why.
Most days, we could co-exist in a somewhat harmonious state in the newsroom. But other days, like today when I overheard things about Kathryn and the child they were expecting, all that anger I’d felt over him using me would resurface, and I found that I had trouble keeping my cool.
After the newsroom meeting, I ducked out of the office for an early lunch, heading for The Barkery and driving a little faster than I should have along Dogwood Drive. Overnight, the weather had gone from pleasantly mild to chilly, damp, and typical October weather for the valley. The sky was the color of ash, and the streets were slick after being coated in a light, steady drizzle.
I let out a short sigh as the wipers pushed water back and forth across the windshield.
I hadn’t interfered in Kobritz’s decision to hire Jimmy. And now, I had to live with the consequences. And one of those would be hearing about, and possibly seeing Kathryn face-to-face.
It wouldn’t be easy. But I had done the right thing by not sabotaging the job opportunity for him.
That had to win me a gold star somewhere.
I hooked a right off of Dogwood and pulled up into the crowded parking lot of The Barkery. I stepped out of the car and quickly walked across the asphalt, dodging the long streaks of rain falling from above.
When I got inside, the line was just about out the door and nearly every table was taken.
Luckily, I knew the owner.
Lou glanced up from the cash register and her face brightened when she saw me. She raised her eyebrows and mouthed “the usual?”
I nodded just as an earsplitting shriek sounded from the kitchen in the back. Everybody in the place hushed.
“Louise!” a familiar voice shouted. “Louise, you
have to get back here! The new oven’s broken!”
The panic in his voice made it seem as though the entire kitchen had just burst into flames.
Lou didn’t buy into the panic, though.
This wasn’t an isolated incident.
She rolled her eyes.
“Hit that blue button, Pete!” she shouted back while ringing up another customer.
There were a few moments of dead silence from the kitchen.
“Did it work?” she shouted again.
There was another long moment of quiet.
“Pete?”
“Yes,” he said in a barely audible, sheepish voice. “It worked.”
Lou shook her head.
“You’ll have to excuse our head baker, everybody,” she said, addressing the crowd. “We just got a new oven installed and it’s different from the old one. But I can assure you that your pastries and sandwiches will all be just as good as usual.”
I snickered quietly to myself as I took the only empty seat in the place at a wobbly table in the far corner.
But maybe it was cruel of me to laugh. Pete – The Barkery’s head baker – seemed like he was headed for a major nervous breakdown. Or a massive, four-alarm internal combustion. Or both. Ever since Lou started dating a real estate developer named Greg Terwilliger this past August, her ex-husband Pete had become an unstable wreck. He burned pastries, mismeasured ingredients, and often showed up to work late and looking like he hadn’t had a decent shower or night’s sleep in weeks. As a peace offering of sorts, Lou had given Pete a promotion from head bread baker to head baker, but the title had done little to distract Pete from the fact that his ex-wife had moved on to greener pastures. It was a well-known fact that Greg was one of the wealthiest men in town.
And because of that, little outbursts like the one a few moments earlier had become more and more the norm from The Barkery’s kitchen lately.
I wasn’t sure why Pete just didn’t go get a job somewhere else. If I was in his shoes, I would have been out of The Barkery like a bat out of hell, job or no job lined up. But for some reason, the anxiety-ridden baker stayed on, having little daily meltdowns to pass the time.