The Gathering Place Page 7

  She stopped, frowning, after the first few shots. “You look like you’re on the way to the dentist.”

  “Maybe that’s because the only thing I hate worse than being interviewed is having my picture taken.”

  “Can you smile, please? You just saved a man’s life,” she reminded him, focusing again as she moved in for a closer shot.

  “Only one more, and you owe me big time for this,” he warned.

  “I agree. I should buy you dinner,” she said.

  “How about I buy you dinner?” he said quickly. “I thought we could celebrate your new job, go someplace special.”

  She was glad to have the camera hiding her expression for a moment. From the look on his face, she got the feeling he’d been thinking about this for a while. She and Luke had eaten lots of meals together and had even spent a few evenings together. But this sounded like more than pizza or sandwiches on the beach. It felt as if something was subtly shifting between them. The idea made her happy—and nervous.

  She looked down and put the camera back in its case. “That sounds great. But I should treat you for giving me the story.”

  “Just don’t misquote me or turn me into some superhero, and we’ll call it even,” Luke said, walking toward her.

  She nodded. “It’s a deal.”

  “Okay then. How about tonight? Are you free?”

  “Sorry, I promised Emily I’d go see her. But another night this week would be okay.”

  “Tomorrow?” he asked.

  Wow, he really wanted this to happen. “Um . . . sure. Tomorrow night would be fine.” His face broke out in a rare smile, and she smiled back, suddenly looking forward to seeing him again.

  “We’re set then. I’ll pick you up around seven.” He moved closer, and she thought he was going to kiss her good-bye—a real kiss. Just as suddenly, she realized that she wanted him to. But instead Luke leaned over and quickly kissed the top of her head.

  “See you later, Ace,” he said quietly.

  “Okay, see you. . . . And please stop calling me that,” she added, as she strolled away.

  She heard him laugh and turned to see him standing with his hands deep in the pockets of his vest, looking uncommonly happy.

  IT WAS PAST TWELVE WHEN SARA RETURNED TO THE OFFICE. SHE SOON realized she was alone. Everyone was gone, which gave her a funny feeling. She took a deep breath, settled herself at her new desk, and took out her notes from the interview with Luke. It was getting close to one. She had slightly more than two hours to write the article. Could she do it?

  She flipped through the pages and had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if she were in an elevator that had suddenly dropped a few floors. She squinted at the first page. She had scribbled down Luke’s answers in a kind of private shorthand and now could barely decipher her own notes. What in the world had she written, and how was she ever going to make an article out of it?

  Sara rubbed her forehead with her hand, suddenly feeling as though she were about to cry. A phone rang, echoing in the silence. She wasn’t sure if she should answer it or not, but she checked the blinking lights, pressed the button, and picked it up. “Hello? Uh . . . Cape Light Messenger,” she added, trying to sound more official.

  It was a woman in the village, calling to take an ad in the classified section to sell a deep freeze.

  “It’s down in the basement. They would have to figure out how to get it out,” she explained, as if any of that information could be included in a three-line ad, Sara thought. She took down the woman’s name and number and promised someone would call her back. Still, the woman was determined to talk about her freezer, and it was a good five minutes before Sara was able to politely end the conversation. Five precious minutes taken from her deadline.

  Sara put down the receiver, feeling as if she might burst into tears. But she couldn’t let herself do that. The one-room storefront office was like a fishbowl. I’ll just have to do the best I can with this. I’ll try to match up the list of questions to the notes and try to remember what Luke said, she told herself.

  Finally, she started on her article. Whenever the phone rang after that, she ignored it and kept working. She hadn’t been hired as a secretary, she reasoned. She was a reporter, and she had a deadline.

  When Wyatt returned an hour later, Sara was so engrossed in writing, she didn’t even hear him come in. She felt someone standing right beside her and looked up to find her handsome new boss peering over her shoulder, reading her computer screen.

  “Oh, it’s you.” Startled, she stopped typing and sat back.

  “Sorry to sneak up on you.” She felt his hand touch her shoulder, then just as quickly, it was gone. “Are you done yet?”

  “Not quite. You said the deadline was three.”

  “Oh, you’re the kind who turns in copy at two fifty-nine . . . and fifty-nine seconds,” he said in a way that made her smile at herself. He left her desk and headed for his own. “Did you get any pictures?”

  She nodded and returned to her writing. “I left the film in the darkroom. But I’m not that great with a camera,” she warned.

  “Now she tells me,” Wyatt answered in an absent-minded manner, as he checked through the mail piled on his desk.

  “I left a message on your desk,” Sara said, not bothering to add that there were quite a few calls she hadn’t picked up.

  He picked up her message slip and glanced at it. “Oh, blast,” he muttered, and smacked himself on the forehead.

  “What’s the matter? Is something wrong?” Sara asked.

  “Nothing. I’m just a little too scattered lately. I totally forgot about a whole pile of ads that have to run in tomorrow’s edition.”

  Sara wasn’t quite sure why this was a disaster, but from the look on Wyatt’s face, it seemed to be. “Can I help you somehow? I’m almost done with this,” she offered, glancing back at her screen.

  Wyatt stared at her a minute, then shook his head. “That’s okay. I’ll figure it out,” he said tiredly.

  Sara turned back to her computer and her article. She had managed to decipher her notes pretty well and had even checked the quotes with Luke over the phone. All in all, she thought, it was turning out pretty well.

  She was conscious of the fact that Jane and Ed were also back at their desks now, and both had turned in their copy soon after Wyatt returned. Sara kept on working.

  Just as the hands of the clock over the door neared two forty-five, a blond-haired woman entered the office and headed toward Wyatt. When she passed Sara, she met her gaze and smiled. Sara smiled back.

  “Hi. How’s it going?” the blonde asked, as she reached Wyatt’s desk. The woman, who was about Wyatt’s age, was very pretty. Sara wondered if she was his girlfriend; she seemed so familiar and relaxed with him.

  “Terrible,” Wyatt replied. “I just realized I forgot to set all these new classified ads for tomorrow’s edition. I still have two stories to write up, and all the copy to edit. And I have to develop some film and lay out the paper.”

  “Wow, sorry I asked.” The woman shook her head in sympathy. “Why don’t you let me do the ads?” She flipped open the folder and glanced at the first few sheets piled there. “These aren’t so bad. Some look like reruns.”

  Sara heard Wyatt let out a deep sigh. “Are you sure, Lindsay? It could take a few hours.”

  So, her name is Lindsay, Sara thought.

  “I’m bored sitting around the house with Dad. Fortunately, Scott just got home, and they’re playing chess.” Lindsay slipped off her coat and hung it on the old-fashioned coat stand near Wyatt’s desk. “I’ll help you later with the layout, too. Otherwise, you’ll be here until midnight again.”

  “Thanks, you’re a pal,” Wyatt said, sounding greatly relieved.

  “What are older sisters for?” she asked in a teasing tone.

  Older sister? Sara was surprised. The two didn’t look much alike. But Lindsay did have Dan’s fair hair and blue eyes, she realized. For some reason
she didn’t want to examine too closely, she felt relieved to hear Lindsay was Wyatt’s sister—and not his girlfriend.

  Lindsay sat at an empty desk near Wyatt’s and began working on the ads. At three o’clock precisely Sara brought her article and disk back to Wyatt’s desk.

  “Thanks,” he said, starting to read it. “Oh, and mark yourself off as delivered on the board back there.”

  She looked behind him and saw a dry-erase board on the back wall, listing the working titles of assigned articles and the reporter’s last name. Sara found “McAllister Interview” and marked it off as delivered.

  Wyatt was still reading her article, frowning as he made marks on the copy with a thick black pen. A lot of marks. She felt knots in her empty stomach as she tried to sneak past him, but he noticed her anyway and spoke without looking up.

  “Wider margins next time. I need some space to edit.”

  “Oh, sure. I didn’t know.”

  “By the way, this is my sister, Lindsay.” Wyatt looked up briefly and nodded over at his sister. “Lindsay, this is Sara Franklin. She just started today.”

  “Hello, Sara. Nice to meet you.” Lindsay smiled. “How do you like it so far?”

  Sara shrugged. “I like it a lot,” she answered honestly, and glanced over at Wyatt. “Is there something else you want me to do?”

  He was reading the last page of her article. “Yes, there is. Rewrite this,” he said bluntly. “It’s a mess.”

  Sara was so shocked that, for a moment, she thought she might burst into tears. She had felt so sure it was good.

  “Sure,” she said, forcing her voice to sound even. “What . . . what’s wrong with it?”

  “Well, for starters, this is a news article, not a mystery novel. You need to get the important information right up front.”

  Sara nodded, even though she thought she had done that.

  “And try to trim this fat,” Wyatt added, handing it back to her. “There’s a lot of fluff in here. Check my marks. You’ll get the idea.”

  Fluff? She didn’t think she wrote with a lot of fluff. Sara nodded again, her gaze fixed on the pages. “When do you want it back?”

  “Right away,” he said, as if she should have already known that. He stood up and turned away, heading to the darkroom.

  Lindsay cast Sara a sympathetic look as she passed by. “He’s just being tough because you’re new. You’re lucky my father isn’t here. He’s even worse.”

  Well, that’s some consolation, I guess, Sara thought. She smiled at Lindsay and returned to her desk. She brought the article up on her computer screen again but found herself staring at the words, unable to focus enough to figure out how to change them. Meanwhile, she felt the minutes slipping past.

  Lindsay walked over to her. “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “Not so great. I’m not sure what’s wrong, so I don’t really know how to fix it,” Sara admitted. “I was a literature major in college. I only took one course in journalism.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ve got some good stuff in here. It just needs some work,” Lindsay said, reading over her shoulder. “Let me take a look at the copy. Maybe I can help.”

  Sara handed her the printed version of her article, covered with Wyatt’s black marks. Lindsay read it quickly, then went over it with Sara, showing her how the important information could be moved and what could be cut.

  “Does that make sense?” Lindsay asked, handing her back the pages.

  “Absolutely. Thanks a million,” Sara said, nearly sighing with relief.

  “No problem,” Lindsay replied, stepping away.

  Finally, at a quarter to six, Sara finished the revision and brought it to Wyatt. “Here’s the rewrite. I hope it’s better.”

  He was reading some copy and didn’t look up at her. She found herself studying the sharp line of his cheek and his thick brown hair. “Just leave it in the box. You can go.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow,” she said, walking away.

  He grunted but didn’t look up.

  Back at her desk, Sara gathered her coat and knapsack and shut down her computer. She suddenly felt too tired to see Emily. She just wanted a hot bath and her bed. Emily would understand, she thought, though she’d be disappointed.

  But outside the cold, damp air blowing in from the harbor revived her. It would be good to visit with Emily, Sara decided. Emily would be an eager audience for the tale of her first day at the paper. In the eyes of her birth mother, Sara knew she was a walking wonder—to a degree so extreme that even Emily had to laugh at herself at times.

  Maybe tonight, that’s just what I need, Sara thought. Some of Emily’s questionable cooking and her unconditional adoration.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?” EMILY SNAPPED OPEN TUESDAY’S EDITION of the Messenger and turned to page three. “Sara’s first article.”

  “Is that today’s edition? I haven’t seen it yet,” Dan said eagerly.

  She held the newspaper out to him and waited while he slipped on his reading glasses, which were almost identical to her own, she noticed with a secret smile. They were alone in Dan’s house, sitting in the family room, where she had found him working on his laptop.

  Emily had already read the article but couldn’t resist reading it again, and their heads were bent close together as they each held one side of the paper.

  Dan sat back first. “Not bad for a start. She managed to give McAllister credit without insulting the police department. That was tricky.”

  “Not bad at all, I thought,” Emily countered, trying not to sound too proud of her daughter. “I saw Sara last night. She was worried it didn’t come out right. Wyatt made her rewrite it.”

  Dan took off his glasses. “Good for him. The copy has been a little ragged since I left.”

  “Really? I haven’t noticed any difference,” Emily teased him, with a smile. “Sara is so excited about this job, she could barely sit still last night. Thanks again for hiring her, Dan.”

  “I didn’t do it as a favor to you, if that’s what you’re thinking. She got the job on her own merit. Which is what you really wanted to hear, right?” His warm, knowing smile distracted her.

  “Well, yes,” she admitted. She looked away. He was getting to know her a little too well lately, she thought. She wasn’t used to this. Not with a man, anyway.

  “How are you doing today?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “I’m horrible. Haven’t you noticed?” he replied grumpily. “I wake up every morning, still surprised to find this hunk of plaster on my leg—and mad at myself for pulling such a stupid stunt. You’d think after all these years of sailing, I’d know better than to get knocked out by my own boom.”

  “Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. It was just an accident. Sometimes things happen for a reason.”

  What she really meant was: Sometimes God is trying to tell us something. In Dan’s case, maybe it was “Slow down, pal.” But she knew that Dan wasn’t a churchgoer. She also knew this was hardly the time to try to win him over in that direction.

  “And what could that reason be?” he asked. “So I can watch more of the all-news channel or sit-com reruns? Catch up on my reading?”

  “I don’t know.” She paused. “Maybe to give me someplace for lunch besides the Clam Box?”

  She reached down next to the couch and picked up a picnic basket, then set it between them on the coffee table. She had discreetly stashed it there when she’d come in, while Dan was still distracted with his computer.

  “You brought me lunch? Why, bless your heart.” He caught her eye with a look that gave her a fluttery feeling in her stomach. “You didn’t have to do that, Emily. I can get myself into the kitchen and fix a sandwich.”

  “Yes, I know. But when I called and spoke to Lindsay before, she said no one would be home this afternoon, so I volunteered. I just hope the menu meets your current standards. No truffles involved,” she warned.

  “No truffles necessary
,” he assured her, with a laugh.

  Emily spread a red-checkered cloth on the table, then took out some cold drinks, sandwiches, and chips. Dan chose the ham on rye, looking quite content.

  He chewed for a moment, and his eyes grew wide. “Mmm, spicy mustard.”

  Emily bit down on her lip to keep from laughing at his expression. “Too much for you?”

  “No, not at all,” he mumbled, as he took a drink. “Just snuck up on me. I didn’t take you for the spicy type.”

  She smiled and looked away. “You never know.”

  As Emily started her sandwich, she suddenly noticed the time. “Mind if I put on channel five? Sophie Potter’s show is starting today.”

  Dan looked puzzled. “Sophie’s on TV? When did that happen?”

  “Dan, I’m surprised at you. That’s been in the works for a while.” Emily picked up the remote and found the right channel. The show hadn’t started yet; it was just a commercial.

  “Some people from channel five came to film the Harvest Fair for the local news, and when they saw Sophie, they thought she’d be perfect for a new show they had in the works,” Emily explained. “You know, cooking and crafts, that sort of thing.”

  “Sounds perfect for her. Sure, let’s watch.” Dan struggled to turn his wheelchair toward the TV, and Emily quickly rose to help.

  “Here, I’ll do that,” she said. “The wheel got twisted, I think.” She rested her hand on his broad, hard shoulder a second, and he glanced up and met her eyes. She smiled back at him briefly then felt self-conscious and looked away.

  As she stood behind him, she noticed his hair was actually more silver-gray than blond. It was still quite thick, too. He was lucky, she thought. Most men in their late forties would envy that. He needed a haircut, though; maybe that would be a good project for some future visit. She would have to remember to bring scissors sometime soon.

  Then she caught herself. Was she letting herself get too involved? Too attached? She always knew her friendship with Dan could lead to something more. Maybe it was leading there already. But in a few weeks when Dan got his cast removed, where would that leave her? Emily wondered. With a heart full of feelings for a man moving quickly in the opposite direction?