by Nancy Martin
“Never give up the ship? She gave you that line? Well, it’s true. They’re changing the whole paper, focusing on younger readers who are more affluent, more culturally attuned. In general, they’re hoping to be more modern. They’re being dragged into the new century at last.”
Politely, Nora said, “It sounds very exciting, Gus.”
Mick pulled the stool over to the bedside. He had mixed feelings about Nora working after the baby was born, yes. But he was going to be pissed if Hardwicke got her hopes up about an opportunity only to crush her later. Nora deserved a job that she loved.
Hardwicke said, “Well, it’s exciting, but it may not be journalism as we know it. In addition to the usual weather, sports, and a smattering of local news, what they really want is click bait—articles that encourage readers to click from the content to retail sites that will pay the paper for the traffic. It’s survival newspapering.”
“Sounds like entertainment,” Nora said. “Not news.”
“Exactly. It’s not my thing, of course, but the Pendergasts want to give it a go.”
“Are you coming back as editor?”
“No,” he said, which gave Mick a spurt of pleasure. “They have someone else in mind to pilot the ship.”
The sinking ship, Mick thought.
“Am I allowed to know who they’ve chosen?” Nora asked.
“Yes. It’s you, Nora. They want you to be the editor.”
Her hand went still on her belly. If Nora had been struck by lightning, she couldn’t have been more stunned. And Mick was just as surprised. Editor?
She said, “I’m sorry, what?”
“The managing editor, the person who decides what stories to print, the person with the vision. The Pendergasts think you’re the girl for the job, and I quite agree. You may be short on experience, but you have a certain sensibility that is ideal for this venture. Everybody agrees you’ve done great work in the Lifestyle section. You have fine ideas that engage readers, and you’ve pulled in excellent advertising without losing your ethics. I suggested you for the job, in fact, because I think yours is a voice that will attract the readers we want. We’ll keep a few people around to help you with the boring details, but you’re the girl for our money.” He paused. “Are you there, Nora?”
“I … I’m sorry. I must have heard wrong. What did you say?”
“You, dear girl, should be the new editor. That’s our consensus. Because of who you are. This is your big chance, you know. You’ll finally have the influence to give that rag some class. Your good taste will be influential, and isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? To put your mark of civility on Philadelphia?”
Mick knew Gus had pushed the right button. Nora’s face was still shocked, but there was a new fierceness starting to glow, too. She might not have the ruthless ambition to run a blue chip company, but Nora was firm in her belief that good people could still rule the world.
She reached for Mick, and he let her hang onto his arm to steady herself. “Gus, I don’t know—”
In a gentler voice, Hardwicke said, “Yes, you do. You know people, Nora. You understand what makes them tick, what’s interesting to them. I have no doubt you’ll be the purveyor of good things, nothing tacky. And maybe your country is ready for that right now.”
She laughed. But she also began to hyperventilate. Not from shock. It was another contraction that overtook her. She couldn’t speak through the growing discomfort and threw a wildly happy, yet panicked, look up at Mick.
He said, “Hardwicke, Nora’s a little busy at the moment. And it may take some time for her to absorb what you’ve said. How about if we call you back? Like, tomorrow?”
Nora nodded frantically, arching her back to stretch the contraction.
He added, “Or next week. She’s going on maternity leave, you know.”
“Right, right. No worries. It will take a couple of weeks for the Pendergasts to take care of everything on the business end. After that, we’ll expect her at the big desk.”
Nora raised her hand. Three fingers.
Mick translated. “She wants three months leave.”
“Out of the question,” Gus shot back. “One.”
“Two.”
“Done. Come to work with a plan, Nora.” Hardwicke said, “Abruzzo, send me a cigar when the stork gets there, you bloody ratbag. I guess the better bloke won.”
Mick laughed, and Nora looked horrified, but Gus disconnected from all the way around the world.
“Did you … hear that?” Nora managed to gasp through the pain. “They want me … to be the new editor. The editor of the whole paper! Can I do that?”
“Hardwicke says you’re the one for the job. He’s always right.”
“No … he’s not,” she ground out. “He’s tasteless and crude. But dammit, I’m going to prove a newspaper doesn’t have to tasteless and crude to be successful!”
“Atta girl.”
She let out a gasp of a laugh. The contraction took her hard then, and she squeezed her eyes shut and panted. The spasm tightened even more, but she fought through it, holding onto Mick. When it was over, she fell back into the pillows again and tried to regain her breath. When she could speak, her voice was rough. “Are there any ice chips?”
“Yeah, sure, hang on.”
“I wish it was vodka,” she said.
“We’re fresh out,” he said, grabbing the paper cup of ice with its plastic spoon.
He fed her a sliver of ice, and she sucked on it, shaking her head. “Am I delirious?”
“Nope. You’re gonna be a star.”
She looked tired, but her brain was clearly whirring like a clock.
Mick let her think and tried not to appear disappointed. If he could have his way, Nora would stay home with their children and never venture out into the world again. Truth was, he wanted her to himself. He wanted her safe, cocooned in that tumbledown mansion she called home, with their kids and a quiet life.
But she wasn’t thinking about staying at home. He could see it on her face.
“Entertainment,” she finally said when her brow cleared. “That’s what they want. Heaven knows the election coverage hardly resembled journalism. It’s all opinions and propaganda—the no-facts era of politics. They want entertainment in the guise of news.”
“Old journalism is dead, you’ve said it yourself. Here’s your chance to make a newspaper what you want it to be.”
“I’ve always tried to use my social column to point people in the direction of philanthropy. I can still do that, right? And help readers see the value in our museums and our history and … and sports! Good heavens, I’ll have to follow sports now, won’t I?”
“Sure.” With a grin, Mick set the cup of ice aside. “Get some help for the other stuff. Make a team. People you can trust.”
“Lexie,” she said at once, her smile growing. “And Dilly Farquar.”
“Good thinking. And Hardwicke, of course.”
She let out a laugh. “Be serious, Michael.”
Although his heart was sinking, he said, “I am serious. Who better? He’s the kind of mentor you’re going to need. As long as he stays on his side of the planet, of course. You could call him every week. Every day, if you need him. If he comes back around here, though, I’m going to take action.”
She slipped her hand into his, her expression turning soft. “I love you.”
“I love you back.” He gave her a kiss and found her face warm, maybe even feverish. Was her job already overwhelming her?
“What’s wrong?” Nora asked.
“Nothing to worry about, sweetheart.”
At least he hoped so.
The nurse stuck her head around the door. “Dad? We need you across the hall.”
He got up and handed Nora the cup of ice. But he hesitated to leave. Her face was pink, as if her temperature was on the rise. Was that normal? He’d have to ask the nurse. To Nora, he said, “I can’t b
elieve I’m even thinking this, but I wish your sisters would get back. I hate leaving you alone.”
“I’ll be okay. I have so much to think about!”
Yes, she did. Mick kissed her hot forehead.
He tore off his gloves in the hall, where Ricci was standing like a sentry in front of Zephyr’s door.
Ricci raised one eyebrow at the sight of Mick in his yellow suit. But he said, “Be careful in there. I think she just bit somebody.”
As Mick pulled on another set of clean gloves, he thought about Emma’s report of suspicious characters in the stairwell. He had made a call to find some answers, but nobody had gotten back to him yet. He said to the cop, “Have you seen anybody weird around here?”
“Is that a trick question?”
“I mean like somebody who shouldn’t be hanging around.”
Ricci said, “Hospital security is usually good, but I just heard somebody stole a nurse’s ID.”
Mick held up his arm to display the pink and blue striped bracelet he’d been given when they checked in. “Did they give you one of these?”
“I don’t need it.” Ricci tapped his badge. “This is a lifetime pass to the fun house.”
Mick wondered if the people Emma saw in the stairwell had security bracelets. Maybe the security wasn’t as tight as everybody thought.
“What are you worried about?” Ricci smiled, almost friendly, and he propped open the door to Zephyr’s room. “Go in there and catch a baby.”
In the delivery room, Zephyr was red-faced and sweating, bent over and showing her bare back to a frightened intern type who held a gigantic needle in one hand. He prodded her spine with the other. Her skin had been swabbed with something orange, and it dripped on the floor. For the first time, Mick felt his knees weaken.
“Hurry up, dammit,” Zephyr growled “What’s the holdup?” To Mick she screamed, “Can’t you get them to help me?”
The intern glanced up and caught sight of Mick. Whatever he saw made him nervous. “We’re doing the best we can, sir. Her labor is moving fast, so we’re playing catch-up. Just get her to hold still so I can place the epidural properly.”
Mick made the mistake of looking too closely at the needle, and he felt his stomach heave. He couldn’t watch the needle procedure, so he went to Zephyr’s head and sat on the stool so they were almost eye-to-eye. If he understood his job, it was to distract her, so he said low-voiced, “Tell me more about our mutual friend.”
“Connie? What about her?”
“You said she wanted to warn me. What exactly about?”
“How am I supposed to know? I stick to my own business.”
She was pouring with sweat. Even her hair was dripping with it, so Mick found a stack of towels the same as those piled in Nora’s room. He used one to pat the perspiration from her forehead. “Sticking to yourself is the best way to get along where you are. You doing okay inside? Staying out of trouble?”
The intern said, “Little pinch.”
Zehpyr winced and clenched her teeth. “I guess so. It’s not like I’m going to get out early for good behavior.”
“You never know,” Mick said. “Things happen you don’t expect.”
“Tell me about it.” The needle must have found its mark because she began to relax. “I started reading some books to pass the time.”
“Good idea. Let us know if you want more. We can send you some. Want any ice?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Yeah, okay.”
“Listen, thanks for the warning. I appreciate it.” He fed her an ice chip from a paper cup.
“Look,” she said around the sliver in her mouth, “I don’t know what Connie meant, but I think she was real serious. You could be in trouble from her husband.”
“Gino’s an idiot.”
“But coming from her, he’s also a wild man. He could hurt you bad.”
“I’m not worried.”
She stopped talking as the nurse bustled closer. The nurse helped her settle back onto the bed, and Zephyr pulled the sheet closer to modestly cover her long, naked legs. When the nurse went to check the monitor, Zephyr said to Mick, “I may be wrong, but I get the idea you’re a good guy. Trustworthy, if that makes any sense.” She touched her belly. “So you can have this baby, but I get to name her. I want to name her after my sister.”
That took him by surprise. “What’s your sister’s name?”
“She was a good person. A lot of lousy things happened to her, but she was really special. You can use it for the middle name, but I want you to call her after my sister. That’s the only thing I’m asking.”
“So what’s her name?”
“Kid.”
Mick figured he heard wrong. “No, really, what’s her name?”
Zephyr spelled it. “K-I-D-D. Kidd. It’s an old family name. Maybe a hillbilly name, but that’s it. This baby may be raised by strangers, but I want her to always be reminded of where she really came from, okay? It’s important.”
“What kind of name is that for a little girl?”
“You’ve got a better idea?”
“My sister’s name is Vanessa. We thought—”
“Oh, hell, no! What kind of stupid, fancy name is that? It’s Kidd for her middle name, or you don’t get her. Hear me? I’ll give this baby to social services before—”
“Okay, okay, whatever you want.”
After months of name discussion with Nora, Mick wasn’t sure how he was going to explain this to her, but at the moment he wasn’t going to risk arguing with a woman in labor. Either one of them.
The intern had gathered up his equipment, and he came around to stand beside Mick. Nervously, he said, “That should do it, sir. I think your wife will be more comfortable now.”
“She’s not my wife,” Mick said automatically.
But his tone must have frightened the intern, who scuttled out of the room.
Ricci stuck his head in the door. “Mick? You’re wanted across the hall.”
This time while he changed his gloves, Ricci wanted to chat about police business.
The cop said, “I hear you’re mixing things up with some of your family members.”
Mick peeled off his gloves. “I’m out of the business.”
“Not yet.” Ricci leaned against the wall by Zephyr’s door. “Word is you’re settling some old scores and tying up a few loose ends before you turn things over to somebody else. Which cousin is it going to be? The crazy one? The stupid one? Or maybe your little brother, Little Frankie.”
“Little Frankie went back to Vegas. But you already knew that.”
“To open his own betting operation.”
“I have no idea what he’s up to, but I’m sure it’s legal.”
Ricci laughed. “Yeah, right. What about all the cousins? Are they fighting over territory yet? Or are you trying to settle all that to avoid a big family feud when you walk away?”
“Are you fishing for evidence? Because I can call my lawyers.”
Ricci wagged his head. “We’re gonna miss you, Mick. That is, if you can pull this off.”
Mick pulled on another pair of gloves and didn’t respond. No sense giving the cops any new information. But he was definitely going to pull it off. Handing over small pieces of the pie to cousins was going to work. Giving the big money operations to one person they couldn’t touch—that was trickier. But it was going to happen. He was determined. With luck, it would happen tonight.
The doctor came out of Nora’s room, looking stern.
“Everything okay?” Mick asked.
“She’s coming along,” the doctor reported, then walked away.
Mick forgot about Ricci and pushed into Nora’s room.
The nurse was more forthcoming. To Nora, she was saying, “You’re making progress, but it’s a little erratic. Nothing to worry about. We’ll just be patient, okay?”
Nora was starting to look less than patient.
&n
bsp; 10.
As Emma made the final turn and headed for the hospital, rain began to
spatter her windshield. And she might have let her passenger nip a few times too many on his bottle. He gave a throaty snore and only startled awake when she reached over and jiggled his arm. He was mostly alert as they reached the parking lot. She found a blaze orange rain slicker and pulled it over her head then jumped out of the truck. She was glad to see the car with the raccoon in the back seat was gone.
She grabbed Father Jerry and dragged him out of the pickup. He was loose-limbed beneath his voluminous robe and very happy. Too happy to stand under his own power. She slung one of his arms over her shoulder and grabbed him around the waist. He promptly leaned all his weight on her.
Emma struggled to keep her feet on the rain-slick pavement. “I hope you’re sober enough to conduct a ceremony!”
“Dearly beloved,” he began in his warbling Irish accent. “We are gathered here to say farewell to our darling mother—”
“This is not a funeral, it’s a wedding!” Emma grunted as she humped him across the hospital parking lot.
“Deeeeearly beloved,” he started again, turning his face up to the sky. “Is there anyone hereabouts who can’t hold his peace?”
“Or his liquor,” Emma muttered.
Her phone rang in her pocket. She almost dropped the good father on his ass as she answered. “Yeah?”
“It’s me,” Libby said in her ear. “Where are you?”
“Hospital parking lot.”
“Wait right there! I’ll be arriving in two minutes. Or three. Or five. I think I made a wrong turn. That Man drives the most enormous vehicle, and I’m having a teensy bit of trouble finding the windshield wipers. If you could—”
“Libby, I’m a little busy at the moment.”
“Just tell me if there’s a silver Toyota parked in the lot.”
There were a dozen silver cars in the lot, and Emma wasn’t going to take the time to figure out what their hood ornaments were. She hung up and grimly headed for the hospital entrance. As the rain started to come down hard, the priest’s robe seemed to soak up heavy moisture like a sponge.