by Robin Caroll
“Why?” She stared at him. Surely he still couldn’t be mad about her not revealing her sources.
“We’ll discuss this privately, Samantha. Mrs. Trees just wanted you to know that it wasn’t her decision to remove you, but mine.”
“But Dad — ”
He stood. “That’s enough. Be grateful your principal talked me into allowing you to remain on the newspaper staff at all. I was fully prepared to have your schedule changed.” He nodded at Mrs. Trees. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Trees stood and shook dad’s hand over her desk. “Anytime, Mr. Sanderson.” She threw Sam a look of pure sympathy. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam.”
Sam stood even though her legs felt too weak to support her.
“Let’s go,” Dad all but growled.
This was worse than she could have ever imagined. He was beyond mad. He was furious. Sam followed to the parking lot. She buckled the seatbelt without a word.
They rode home in silence.
Once home, Dad parked the car in the driveway, just outside the garage. He turned off the engine but didn’t open his door. Sam didn’t know whether to stay put or go inside and go to her room like she usually had to do when she got in trouble.
“I asked you to do one thing, Samantha. One. And you deliberately disobeyed me.” His voice sounded steady but monotone.
It scared her a little. “What did I do?” She made sure to keep her own voice soft so it didn’t sound like she was being defiant.
“I told you about Frank Hughes getting threats in confidence. You promised you wouldn’t breathe a word of what I told you, not even to Makayla.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “So imagine my surprise when I read your article in today’s school paper.”
“But I didn’t, Daddy.” She hated the whining tone that slipped into her voice, but she couldn’t help it.
He shook his head. “Samantha. You deliberately defied me. You wrote about the one thing I told you not to use.”
“No, Daddy. Every single fact I used came straight from Mr. Hughes. I didn’t put anything in the article that he himself didn’t tell me.”
He kept shaking his head. “I don’t care how you try to reason this, Samantha, you took information I gave you in confidence, that I had your promise was off the record, and used it for your article.”
“Dad — ”
“That you used only Mr. Hughes’ statements in the article isn’t the point. It’s that you used the information I’d given you off the record to ply statements from him.” He took a slow breath. “You betrayed my trust.” His voice caught on the last word.
Trust.
Her heart caught as tears burned her eyes. “Dad.” Her own voice cracked.
“Just go inside, Samantha. We’ll talk about this more when I get home.” He held up his hand in surrender. “Please, don’t argue anymore. Just go on in. Do your homework.” He pressed the garage door opener.
Blinking back the tears, she opened the car door, then rushed inside. Dad closed the garage door behind her.
Sam ran into the kitchen and couldn’t hold back any longer. The sobs exploded from deep inside her. She sat on the kitchen floor, her back against the island, and her head buried in her arms resting on the top of her drawn-up knees.
Chewy rushed in and licked her face.
She reached for the dog and hugged her. Chewy’s whole body shook as she continued to lick Sam’s face.
At least somebody still loved her.
CHAPTER 21
BENCHED
Sam stared at the clock on her iPhone. She’d finished her little crying fest but still wanted to talk to somebody. Needed to talk.
She dialed her mom’s number. Even if she woke Mom in the middle of the night, Mom wouldn’t care. She’d talk to Sam and make her feel better. But the call went straight to Mom’s voice mail. Sam hung up without leaving a message.
Staring at the time again, she considered her options. Too early for Makayla. School wouldn’t be out for another fifteen minutes, and Mac’s bus wouldn’t get her home for another twenty minutes after dismissal.
It wasn’t fair. Dad should’ve given her the chance to explain. He could’ve understood where she was coming from. It was like he didn’t care. And ordering her to be removed from the assignment. That was low.
Aubrey would be thrilled. She’d probably already handed the assignment over to Kevin Haynes. Fresh tears pooled in her eyes. She brushed them away and opened the refrigerator. She didn’t feel like picking out a casserole for dinner. She was pretty much sick of casseroles anyway. She didn’t want anything to drink, either.
She didn’t feel much like doing homework. Or watching television. She didn’t even feel like eating some of the ice cream Mom kept hidden in the back of the freezer behind the ham. She really needed a hug.
She slammed the fridge door and stared out the window.
Mrs. Willis bent over her flower beds, her big floppy hat drooping over her face.
Sam moved closer to the window, watching her neighbor. Mrs. Willis carefully placed a delicate plant in the flowerbed, shook some plant food around, then gently pressed potting soil around the fragile stem. She would finish with one, move down about six inches, then start again. Slowly. Carefully. Despite the sweltering heat, she continued to work with precision and care.
Suddenly, Sam wanted to talk to Mrs. Willis like never before. She grabbed her cell phone and slipped it into her pocket, poured two glasses of lemonade, and then headed out the side door. She crossed the hedge fence between the two houses.
“Well, hello, Samantha, dear,” Mrs. Willis said as she approached. “Why, is that lemonade?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sam handed one of the glasses to the older lady.
“Dear, you are an angel.” Mrs. Willis took the glass and sat back on her heels before taking a long sip. “That’s mighty good lemonade.” She took another sip.
She must be thirsty because the lemonade was a mix, and not even one of the more popular brands. Sam just smiled and took a little sip of her own. “I thought you might need a little break. It’s so hot out.”
“It is that, dear.” Mrs. Willis rocked herself to where she could pull up to standing. “Let’s go sit on the swing in the shade and enjoy this lovely lemonade.”
Sam joined her on the padded double swing under the big old oak tree. She leaned her head back as they settled into an easy rocking.
“So, you want to tell me about it?” Mrs. Willis asked.
Sam opened her eyes and squinted at her neighbor. “Tell you what?”
“Whatever it is that’s bothering you.” She took another sip of her lemonade. “I can tell, you know. It’s all over your face that something’s got you all worked up.”
Sam traced the lip of the glass with her finger. “I upset Dad.” Wasn’t that an understatement? “Actually, I made him mad. Really, really mad.” Madder than she’d ever seen him.
Mrs. Willis let out a little laugh. “Well, that does tend to happen between fathers and daughters, dear. It’s part of the cycle of growing up.”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Willis. I didn’t just make him mad. He said I betrayed his trust.” Sam toed a rock on every backward push.
“Oh, my. That is a tough one. Betrayal of trust is always hard.”
“But I didn’t betray his trust.” Not really. Well, not in the way he said she did. “And he wouldn’t even let me explain.”
“That’s unusual for your father, isn’t it? Charles has always impressed me as a fair man. A just man.”
“Not this time. He punished me without even really listening to my side.”
“He grounded you?” Mrs. Willis had one eyebrow raised. It made her glasses look crooked on her face.
“No, but he went to my school and told my principal to remove me from a newspaper assignment. Without even listening to a single thing I said.” Sam could only imagine all the mean and ugly things Aubrey would say. What she’d tell everybody on the newspaper staff.
What she’d tell Luke Jensen.
She swallowed the mountain that lodged in her throat. Talk about an epic failure. Sam couldn’t even bear the thought of going to school tomorrow. Everyone would be talking about her and how her daddy pulled her off a story. It was humiliating.
“That is rough, indeed.” Mrs. Willis took off her hat and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “I know how much you want to be a journalist, like your mother.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Willis said nothing, just took another sip of lemonade and fanned herself with her big ole’ floppy hat.
Finally, Sam couldn’t stand it. “So, what should I do?”
“What?” Mrs. Willis looked at her as if she’d just asked what the square root of infinity was.
“What should I do? To make Dad forgive me?”
“Land sakes, dear, I don’t know.”
An adult who didn’t have the answers? “You can’t give me any advice?”
“Advice I can give you, Sam.” Mrs. Willis chuckled and took another sip of lemonade. “Let me ask you this: Did you betray your dad’s trust?”
“I — ”
Mrs. Willis held up a finger. “Wait a minute. Think about that question.”
Sam shut her mouth.
“The word betray means ‘to reveal or disclose in violation of confidence,’ but it also means ‘to disappoint the hopes or expectations of.’ She put her hat back atop her head. “With those definitions in mind, did you betray your dad’s trust?”
She didn’t exactly reveal anything Dad had shared with her, but she probably did disappoint his expectations of her. At least, she was pretty sure she had. Sam kicked the rock harder. “I guess he might think that I did.”
“Guess. Might.” Mrs. Willis shook her head. “Pshew, dear, those are some weak possibilities, as my momma used to say.”
That sick feeling on the edge of Sam’s stomach dropped a little lower. “Yes. I can see how he might feel as if I betrayed his trust.” Just saying the words made her tongue feel like she’d eaten something slimy and icky. Like asparagus. “But I didn’t mean to.”
“Well, if you hurt somebody that you didn’t mean to hurt, what do you normally do?”
Sam gave her a funny look. “I tell them I’m sorry.”
“Bingo!” Mrs. Willis pointed at her.
Sam shook her head. Mrs. Willis didn’t understand. “I didn’t hurt Dad’s feelings. I made him mad. Super mad.” It was hard to apologize to someone who was just angry. They usually didn’t want to forgive you until they cooled off.
“Honey, anger is nothing more than an expression of hurt.”
“No, he was angry, not hurt.”
Now it was Mrs. Willis who shook her head. “Dear Samantha, I forget how young you are. Most certainly at the root of every ounce of anger is pain. Hurt feelings, physical hurt, even spiritual hurt. When people are hurting, they sometimes lash out in anger. That’s an easier emotion to deal with than pain.” She wagged her finger. “Don’t you prefer anger over hurt? Don’t you enjoy holding onto anger, feeling as if someone’s done you wrong, than to admit how hurt you feel by what they did or said?”
Sam had never considered that before.
“Telling someone you’re sorry when you really are goes a long way in healing a lot of hurt.” Mrs. Willis patted her leg. “Now, I have to get back to my flowerbeds. Thank you so much for the lovely lemonade and the delightful conversation.” She hefted herself off the swing.
Sam took the glass and stood as well. “Thank you, Mrs. Willis.” She gave the kind lady a quick hug.
“You’re quite welcome, my dear.” Mrs. Willis headed back to her flowerbeds.
Sam returned home. After putting the glasses in the dishwasher, she took a casserole from the freezer, put it in the oven, and set the temperature. She headed up to her room to do her homework.
She glanced at the digital frame with the scrolling articles and pictures of Mom with her awards. Maybe Sam wasn’t cut out to be a journalist after all.
No, she wouldn’t think like that. Even though Dad had taken her out of the game, that didn’t mean she couldn’t continue to follow the leads. What kind of journalist would she be if she stopped just because things got rough for her? She needed to stick with it. Prove herself.
She lifted the lid on her MacBook and opened a fresh page in the search engine. She typed “Ella Needles” in the box, then hit enter.
The results loaded, and Sam scanned. She clicked on the link for Arkansas Business, then read the article that popped up on the screen about how Mrs. Ella Needles had lost her civil “wrongful death” suit against Mr. Hughes and his insurance company in regards to the death of her husband.
Sam stared at the date of the article: two months ago. Wasn’t that about the time Dad said Mr. Hughes reported he started getting hang-ups? This was the trigger that set her off . . . she didn’t just wait two years to start exacting her revenge — she’d been waiting on the outcome of her civil case. She’d lost two months ago and decided to take it upon herself to get even with Mr. Hughes.
Ohmygummybears! It all made sense. The “you’ll pay for what was done” and the “I’m going to ruin your life like my life was ruined” made sense now. The wording had bugged Sam. It wasn’t “you’ll pay for what you did” but instead was “for what was done.” In Mrs. Needles’s instance, those phrases actually made sense. She probably drove an older year, red four-door, too.
Now that she knew, she had to do something. Tell someone.
Dad.
He was mad at her, but he’d have to listen. Especially if she apologized like Mrs. Willis explained. Maybe he’d even be so happy his case was solved that he’d forgive her.
An hour later, Sam had just finished her homework when Chewy jumped off the bed, barking as usual. Dad must be home. Sam glanced at the clock. It’d taken her longer to do her math worksheet than she thought. Dad was a little late.
Man! The casserole. She’d forgotten to set the timer. She could only hope it wasn’t burnt. Overcooked enchilada casserole was just gross.
She ran to the kitchen to check the oven. She turned it off and grabbed hot pads as Dad’s keys landed in the wooden bowl with a clank.
Her heart sped up a little. Nerves. It was hard knowing you needed to apologize for something so big. She turned as footsteps echoed on the floor.
“Mom!” She tossed the hot pads onto the kitchen island and ran to her mother.
Mom’s arms wrapped around her and drew her close. Sam inhaled, breathing in the spicy scent of Chanel’s CoCo, Mom’s signature perfume. She immediately felt better. About the struggles with the story. About losing the assignment. About everything.
“Oh, I missed you, my girl,” Mom whispered as she took a step back and kissed Sam’s cheek.
“Dad didn’t tell me that you were coming home early.” Sam hugged her mom again before releasing her.
“I just decided to come home early this morning after I spoke with your father.”
Sam’s happiness took a crashing dive. Dad called and told Mom what she’d done? And Mom had felt like she needed to come home early because of that? Sam didn’t know what to say. She’d messed up big time.
Dad came into the kitchen. “We need to talk with you, Samantha.” He leaned against the kitchen island.
She swallowed. Hard. Even though her mouth felt as if it was stuffed with a wad of cotton balls. “Dad, I understand, but there are a couple of things I need to tell you first.” She blinked several times as tears threatened to return. “First off, I’m sorry. I didn’t think I was betraying your trust when I wrote the story and only used Mr. Hughes’ statements. I’m sorry I followed up on a lead you told me in confidence. I understand now that even though I didn’t actually use the information you told me, I disappointed your expectations of me. I’m very sorry, Dad.”
Mom moved beside Dad and slipped her arm around his waist.
Sam couldn’t blink back the tears in her eyes, bu
t she forced herself to continue. “I realize now I might have put you in a very bad position at work too, and I’m really sorry. I really am, Daddy. I love you and I hope you can one day forgive me.” She sniffled, hating that she was standing and blubbering like a baby.
He took the steps to close the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. “Pumpkin, even when I’m mad at you, I always love you and I always forgive you.”
She squeezed him. Hard.
“I’m sorry too. My captain was breathing down my neck about your articles, thinking I had passed along confidential information to you. We later found out that Vanya Grossman’s nephew is a clerical worker in our precinct. Apparently, he likes to talk about cases to make people think he’s more important than he is.” He kissed the top of her head before letting her go. “It didn’t take me long to figure out that you got your information from Mrs. Grossman since we all know how much she likes to . . . um . . . share information.”
Mom gave her a quick hug. “Sam, sometimes you have to weigh what you report. It’s a fine balance to decide what truths to publish.” She ran her fingers through Sam’s hair. “I sometimes have to remind myself of what Proverbs 22:11 tells us: ‘One who loves a pure heart and who speaks with grace will have the king for a friend.’ ”
“I think Mom’s trying to say that you have to judge by what your pure heart tells you, and to always speak with kindness,” Dad said.
Mom grinned. “Yeah. What he said.” She laughed and winked at Sam. She moved to the counter and sat on one of the barstools.
“I’m proud of you for apologizing, Sam. I know that had to be hard for you when you must be disappointed that I had you removed from the story,” Dad said, taking a seat on the stool beside Mom.
Ohmygummybears! She’d almost forgot! “Dad, I know who planted the bomb, and why.”
He smiled. “We already have the culprit in custody.”
Her bubble burst. She leaned against the opposite side of the island. “Ella Needles?”
Dad’s brows shot up. “How’d you know it was her?”