It went without saying that Elena was an incredible writer. Her writing was tight, informative, clever, and sharp.
It wasn’t like he was an expert, of course. But he’d spent his childhood obsessed with reading newspapers, inhaling critical essays, and trying to get his head around the world outside.
By the time Elena returned to the kitchen, it was nearly nine in the evening, and James was fully prepared to be kicked out of the house. Instead, Elena poured him another glass of wine and sat back down. “It means a lot that you came over,” she said gently. And then she added, “You know, I haven’t hadanyone to talk to in what feels like years. Even sparring with Mom feels so nourishing.” She wet her lips. “What you said about the community you’ve built in the grief therapy sessions really spoke to me. I’ve felt…” She gestured toward her chest. “An insurmountable level of grief through the years. I guess it all started when my father died. It was incredibly sudden. I was abroad, working in Syria, and I was often unreachable. Mom was already mad at me for going abroad in the first place. She saw it as unnecessary and dangerous, especially when she wanted me to help her atThe Millbrook Gazetteinstead. When I couldn’t make it in time for Dad’s funeral, she wanted to wash her hands of me fully.”
James considered saying that she was angry, upset, and didn’t know what she was saying. But he felt unsure of everything, especially when faced with Elena.
Elena hesitated, her eyes shining. “She hasn’t brought up Dad since I got here. Sometimes I wonder if she even remembers what happened between us. Other times, I imagine she remembers everything and is waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Then again, they’re doing all these Alzheimer’s tests, speculating that she’s got early-onset. I don’t know what to make of it. My mother is the smartest woman I know.” Implied in what she was saying was what if the most intelligent woman I knew fell apart?
James fought the urge to reach across the table and touch her hand.
Elena sniffed and laughed at herself, reaching for a tissue to clean herself up. “It feels good to talk about, I guess. And it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
“It’s never easy to sum everything up in a few sentences,” James said.
“You’re telling me.” Elena tried to laugh at herself.
James took a breath. “Why don’t you come out to the community center this week? You could join a therapy session, maybe meet a few more people in the community.”
Elena looked thoughtful. “I worry that my mother has already told all of you the terrible things I’ve done. But then again, Natalie didn’t seem to know.”
James hesitated.
“What do you know?” Elena tilted her head.
“I know you had a falling-out,” James said. “I know she’s missed you.”
“I’m sure she hasn’t,” Elena said, although doubt filled her voice.
James slid his thumb across the tabletop and struggled to pull his eyes from hers. “You shouldn’t have to do any of this by yourself, Elena,” he said. “Say you’ll come.”
Elena crossed her arms over her chest. For some reason, the air between them felt taut, as though you could drop a penny onto it and it would bounce. James wondered if it was attraction, if he wasn’t the only one who felt it between them. He reminded himself that Elena needed him in a far different way this holiday season; that her heart had broken again and again. Romance couldn’t be in the cards.
He tried a joke. “There are donuts.”
“I’ll think about it,” Elena said finally, laughing. “But only because of the donuts.”
Chapter Six
It was very early the following morning that Elena met Natalie at the newspaper offices and watched as the last of the newspapers were printed, folded, and tied up for delivery. It might have been any other year, any other decade. It had nothing to do with the internet, and that was a good thing. Elena grabbed a still-warm paper off the stack and inhaled the delicious smell of ink, pointing at the feature Natalie had written for the front page—one about a scandal two towns away that included the mayor’s wife, fraud, and a basketball team. Natalie had been working on it for the better part of three weeks and had been mystified when she’d learned that Carmen hadn’t remembered the existence of the article at all.
“But she read it,” Elena had told her. “Last night. And she loved it. I think she said, ‘Natalie is a true talent. You could learn a thing or two from her, Elena.’” Carmen hadn’t actually said that, but Elena wanted to make Natalie happy. That, and Elena really did respect Natalie’s work.
Natalie beamed, but her eyes stirred with questions. Elena hoped for a conversation with the doctor later today, one that illuminated her mother’s health plan and strategy.
But for now, she and Natalie had finished their first paper together. It was something to celebrate.
As the buttercream dawn spilled over the slanted snow on either side of the sidewalk, Natalie and Elena walked toward the local bakery, discussing interviews they planned to conduct and Christmas events that needed to be published.
“Carmen always said it was up to theGazetteto bring everyone out of their homes for Christmas. To build community, or remind people it exists outside of their homes,” Natalie said.
“I remember. She said the same thing to me when I ran off to be a war correspondent,” Elena said timidly. “She couldn’t understand why I’d throw myself into all that danger when there was so much community-building to do back here.”
“Oh, but you were so brave!” Natalie cried. “Your mother thought the same.”
Elena felt another stab of guilt. No matter how long she lived, she imagined she’d never overcome what she’d done. But as they entered the bakery and inhaled the delicious, creamy, buttery smells, she let her guilt drift away, replaced by gluttony. She and Natalie ordered enough pastries for themselves and the otherGazettejournalists who’d agreed to return to work. By the time they got back to the office, everyone was there, typing like crazy.
When they entered, the staff members stood to applaud Elena and Natalie.
