“No, no, no, that’s not the point.” Rebecca could visualize the woman waving her hand dismissively, held her tongue. “Anyhow, Ihave to go. Tennis in an hour. Just keep doing those kind of stories and keep away from that exposé garbage.”
The line went dead, and Rebecca stared at the phone in her hand a moment, then replaced the receiver. One of Millie’s sticky note scriptures had gotten caught underneath the headset, and Rebecca distractedly crumpled it, not bothering to read the words, and tossed it in the trash. She stifled a giggle as she realized that might actually have been the first underhanded praise call she’d received since she’d taken the helm of theDahlia Weeklythree months ago. Well, well.
“Rebecca, line four,” Millie sang out from across the room.
Three hours and four complaint calls later, plus two praise calls, Rebecca had put out a handful of advertising fires, charted the news budget for next week’s paper, and gone over Tiff’s assignments with her. Dinah the ad rep had seen a marginal boost in advertising, but she’d messed up sizing on a real estate ad and forgotten to note a placement request on another, so Rebecca had needed to talk down a grumpy business owner who didn’t like that she’d not put his ad in the youth sports section.
“Here,” Millie said, and Rebecca looked up, startled. The prim-faced woman in the pale-blue polyester blazer was standing over her, a neatly tucked brown bag in her wrinkled hands. “A turkey and cheese from Sam’s Sammies, and those healthy chips you like.”
“Oh, thank you! You didn’t have to—”
“Nonsense,” Millie said, her voice brusque. “I figured you wouldn’t eat, and you’ve been skin and bones lately.”
“Thank you,” she repeated, touched by the gesture even if Millie hadn’t been exactly friendly about it.
She opened the bag and pulled out the sandwich and chips, the aroma already making her mouth water. The sandwich was still warm and toasty, the cheese that just-right kind of gooey. She took a huge, satisfied bite and sighed contentedly.
Millie was back in her chair, and Rebecca realized they were the only ones in the room. Dinah was out making the rounds, she knew, and Tiff must have run off to grab lunch or do a story, maybe both. Millie opened her own bag and bowed her head a moment, mouthed some words Rebecca couldn’t hear.
“So how are things going?” Rebecca asked after the prayer was done.
“Same old, same old.” Millie shrugged, took a bite. “Got my grands on the weekends while their mama works and my church summer clothing bazaar next week. Between that and work, there’s never a moment’s rest.”
“I hear you.” Rebecca tried to make her voice sympathetic. “Well, you’re doing a good job on the bookkeeping and customer service. I really appreciate that.”
“It’s my job,” Millie said simply. “And I heard some of the calls this morning—you really did do a nice job with that story about the summer camp.”
“Thanks.”
“No, really—that’s the sort of thing people like around here. It’s news, but it’s news people actually care about. You do more stories like that and you’ll see your numbers start to pick up again. People need to see we care about the community, that we’re not only out for a profit.”
Rebecca wrinkled her nose. “I’m not so sure that’s going to drive numbers. Didn’t the last editor do that stuff? And the guy before him?”
Millie snorted. “TJ Banks did the bare minimum. He was a nice person, don’t let me tell you wrong, but the stories were blander than potatoes with no salt and butter. You might try some of what he did but taking it up a notch.”
“We’ll see.”
“Rebecca, with all due respect, what worked somewhere elseisn’t necessarily the right recipe for Dahlia.” Millie’s cheeks had little points of color at the center.
“Thank you, Millie,” Rebecca said, her tone clear: Conversation closed. Millie’s mouth pressed into its familiar thin line.
When Rebecca left that day, the stack of mail had a blue sticky note on top. Instead of scripture, Millie had scrawled four words: I’m praying for you.
Rebecca balled it up and jammed it in her purse.
“Rebecca!”
She looked up from her car to see Erik Wennerman waving from the coffee shop up the road. Joe Mama’s. She could almost smell the coffee beans from here. Erik was grinning at her, his shirt sleeves rolled in the afternoon sunlight, and she had to tamp down the sudden sear of attraction. She waved back as casually as she could manage.
“Got a minute?” he called. “Can I treat you to a cup of coffee?”
Millie and the anger she’d felt moments ago instantly faded, and the flame instead became a little ember of thrill. Why not? It’s just business.
“Sure.” She smiled back and clicked the lock on her car, quickly crossed the street.
“Good to see you,” he said, holding open the door to usher her in.
Popping her sunglasses atop her head, she stepped inside. He stood a little too close, and she brushed against him slightly. The spot where their bodies touched felt warm and buzzy as she moved inside the café.
