As Seb pretended to be irritated, he noticed Pancake’s gaze had followed her out the door. Well, well, well. Although Haskell’s fading hairline made him look much older than thirty-four, he and Evelyn had gone to high school together, and she was actually three years older than him. But this was the first time he’d seen the man take a visual interest in his sister. Seb wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“Sebastian,” Flora’s resonant voice was butter-smooth as she spoke his name. “I’ve got an appointment at four—”
“Congratulations!” Evelyn burst into the room carrying a cakeshe’d picked up earlier that day from the Clementine Bakery. She set it in front of Flora as Flora’s husband, Carl, and her mother, Florine, came into the room. Carl held two six-packs of Coke and Florine had a paper bag with the cups, napkins, and plates Evelyn had requested her to bring.
Flora looked at the top of the cake. It read: Retirement Suits You. Her gaze darted around the room. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“There’s no way we were going to let you go without a little celebration,” Evelyn said, putting her arm around Flora’s shoulders.
Seb stood to the side and watched as his staff celebrated Flora’s retirement. The woman had been his bookkeeper for the past ten years, and she’d been Buford’s for twenty before that. Thirty years of service toThe Clementine Times. That deserved more than a cake, but he was waiting for the plaque commemorating her service to come back from the engraver. For now, a cake would have to do.
“Get over here, sugar.” Florine waved her hand at him, her long, perfectly manicured coral nails a nice contrast to her dark skin. Ms. Florine was never without her nail polish or her pearls. “You’d better get your piece of cake before Carl eats it all.”
“Hey,” Carl said, scoffing at his mother-in-law. “I’ve only had two.”
Chuckling, Seb uncrossed his arms and walked to the table where Florine had a slice at the ready. For the next thirty minutes, he was able to take off his publisher and editor-in-chief hats and just be Seb—a man hanging out with his friends.
At ten to four, the cake was put away and the mess cleaned up. Flora told Carl and Florine she’d see them at home. When everyone had left the conference room, Flora went to Seb, tears in her eyes. “You didn’t have to make a fuss,” she said.
“Sure we did.” He smiled, keeping his emotions in check. “It was Evelyn’s idea.”
“I’m sure she didn’t have to twist your arm.” Flora dabbed at her eyes with a retirement-themed napkin and looked around the room. “I’m going to miss this place.” She faced Seb. “I’ll miss you the most.”
He drew her in for a quick hug. “Same here. I don’t know what I would have done without you all these years.”
“You would have survived.” She stepped back. “Just like you’re going to survive now.”
Doubt crept in. “I’m glad you’re confident.”
She touched his cheek. “Don’t forget to come around on Thanksgiving. That’s a standing invitation, no matter what.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss your collard greens and Florine’s potato pie.” While Evelyn usually spent Thanksgiving with their mother and their stepfather, Bill, in Tennessee, Seb didn’t like to stray too far from Clementine andThe Times. Flora and her family had taken him in on the holidays.
She nodded. “I best get to that appointment. You holler if you need anything... even though I know you won’t.”
She was right—he probably wouldn’t.The Timeswas his responsibility, not hers. “I’ll keep it in mind, though.”
After she hurried out of the room, Seb stayed behind. He’d see Flora in town and at the Clementine Community Church, but not having her in the office was going to be hard. And then there was the fact that now he had added another job responsibility on top of being publisher, editor in chief, part-time columnist and reporter, and full-time owner. But that was the newspaper business in the twenty-first century, and despite the hard work and uncertain times, he still loved it.
He loved Clementine even more.
Seb turned off the lights and went to his office to check the messages on his answering machine. There was only one, which was unusual. Often his machine was full. He hit Play.
Hello, Mr. Hudson. Miles Harrington here, from Harrington Media. I’m following up on the three letters and five messages we’ve left with you recently. Our company is serious about discussing a possible deal with you—
Seb hit the Erase button. Geez, this guy was persistent. Seb had read his first letter and immediately balled it up and threw it into the trash, and did the same with the subsequent letters that he hadn’t bothered to open. He also didn’t listen much further to the other phone messages Harrington had left over the past two months. He’d figured if he ignored the man, he’d leave him alone. So far he hadn’t, but Seb wasn’t changing his strategy. Eventually he’d realize the answer was an emphatic and foreverno.
The Timesmight be in dire financial straits, and he was taking on another job to keep it afloat, but he continued to hope that this was only temporary—that the newspaper business would make a comeback. He’d been very, very wrong about the appeal of the internet, and Evelyn had asked him more than once to start moving things to digital. Seb refused. If he changed the newspaper format, then that would irrevocably changeThe Times. He couldn’t allow that.
Yes, he was a relic at age forty, but if someone didn’t preserve the past, who would? When he bought the paper from Buford, he made a vow not to let it go under or stray from its original mission—to keep Clementine and the surrounding communities connected. And even though it was hard, even though at times it seemed impossible, he wasn’t giving in.
***
Los Angeles, California
“And now here’s the latest from No Doubt—‘It’s My Life’!”
“Ooh, I love this song.” Kalista Clark pushed down her Chanel sunglasses and looked at the man cleaning the pool. “Turn it up.”
