“Thank you for listening,” she breathed. “I know it’s your job to listen, but it means a lot that you’d do it during your free time.”
“We’re friends,” James said softly. “At least, I already count you as one. I hope that isn’t too forward of me.”
“It’s been a long time since I had a friend,” Elena said.
They were quiet for a moment, their eyes to the black night out the window. In the yard across the way, someone had built a snowman, and its carrot nose was pointed slightly upward, as though the snowman in question was arrogant. James followed her gaze and smiled.
“Every snowman has a different character,” he said.
“I can’t tell what that one’s judging me for,” Elena tried to joke. “Maybe it’s just that I haven’t gotten my haircut in a while. Maybe it’s because my life’s work is a mess.”
James shook his head. “I don’t read the snowman as arrogant. I think he’s trying to make sense of us. You know, like how you have to tilt your head to get a different perspective on life.”
Elena eyed James adoringly. “You have a great way of spinning things.”
James seemed unsure of what to say. The air between them seemed to sizzle. Right when he parted his lips, his eyes ducked to the stovetop, where he read the time. It was already far past one in the morning, headed toward two. But they were adults. Nobody was checking up on them. They could do whatever they pleased.
“Are you going to keep digging on that Cranberry Cove story?” he asked, reaching for his coat. He seemed reticent and regretful, as though he longed to stay.
Elena leaned against the counter and watched as he buttoned his coat. “I think so. It’s not like I think the story will redeem me, save my career, or make up for what happened back in Syria. But I can’t help but think it’s meaningful.”
James held her gaze. “As I understand it, what happened back in Syria wasn’t your fault in the slightest. You were wronged by the person meant to love you. Innocent people died.”
Elena blinked back tears. No matter how often she’d tried to tell herself what James said to her now, she struggled to believe it. “I should have been more careful.” She swallowed. “I shouldn’t have ever trusted him.”
“You were in a strange land under bizarre circumstances,” he told her. “You tried to do everything you could to protect your sources. And Timothy should have respected that.”
Elena let her eyes drop. She felt her body temperature skyrocket. She either needed James to leave immediately or to take her into his arms and cuddle her until she fell asleep.
When was the last time a man had comforted her? Had Timothy ever set aside his arrogance and listened to her sorrows? Even when her father died, Timothy had told her, essentially, to buck up.
Elena walked James to the door and watched as he disappeared through the snowy night. When the last of the darkness swallowed him, she locked the door and sat on the sofa for a long time. When she let herself, she could still hear the sounds of bombs in the distance, making a mockery of any beauty she’d found in this life.
That Monday morning after Jemma came over to hang out with Carmen for the day (carrying plenty of puzzles, crosswords, and DVDs in a big linen bag), Elena took her mother’s car and drove out to Cranberry Cove. Parked at the side of the road, she peered at the gaudy, expensive houses, all of which had been decorated for Christmas with wreaths and string lights and ornate mangers. It was eight thirty, and most of the millionaires had already left for the day, eager to add more money to their already-stacked bank accounts. Elena tried to imagine whowas left in the houses at this hour. Stay-at-home wives? Adult children who’d moved home? Retired folks, playing cards and reading in sunrooms, watching the glinting sunlight on the water?
It was hard to imagine Grandma Rosa coming here as a young girl, racing around a beach that belonged to everyone, rather than just the elite. The other beaches in the area were inferior; some of them were filled with rocks and stones, and others were just plain ugly. Perhaps, if Elena stayed in Millbrook, she could help campaign to beautify the other beaches. A few articles wouldn’t hurt.
What am I thinking?She laughed at herself and drove to the newsroom, eager to dig into the day.
When Elena arrived, she found Natalie in her mother’s office, beaming with a mix of excitement and fear.
“What’s going on?” Elena asked, throwing her coat over her mother’s chair.
“Look,” Natalie said, snapping a construction approval onto Elena’s desk. “The judge in Cranberry Cove signed this just yesterday. It looks like they’ll be able to start digging as soon as spring!” Natalie seethed.
Elena pressed her lips together. It seemed like this was a case she couldn’t escape. “What was it you said about the judge looking the other way on a crime?”
Natalie spoke a mile a minute. “The man in charge of the construction crew is named Vic Chestnut. He’s also responsible for several construction projects over in Connersville and is essentially my link to bring all these stories together.”
Elena smirked. “I thought you didn’t want to get involved in this story?”
Natalie threw her head back. “I couldn’t get it out of my head! I mean, why should these people get everything they want? Whyshould they destroy the last piece of beach Millbrook has left? And why should they get filthy rich doing it?”
Elena was reminded, suddenly, of herself, of how sure she’d been that good journalism could change the world. Maybe she’d been right. If only Timothy hadn’t destroyed that in her.
“Then let’s get to work,” Elena said firmly.
Natalie saluted her and went back to her desk.
