Three days. He’d worked two of them, had a day off, and was now here. And yet he’d made no move to contact me. And my three texts had gone unanswered. Just one a day.See? I can be reasonable. I’m not obsessive. I’m not obsessed.
Or so I keep telling myself.
Over and over, I replayed that night in my mind. Should I have said something different? Would it’ve given me a different outcome? Or had the die been cast when I chose not to tell him about my writing? I didn’t have a ready answer for that. If Finn wasn’t a writer himself—a poet no less—would the omission have cut so deep? Again, I couldn’t say. I’d kept my mouth shut—as I had for the last almost fifteen years—and had never considered sharing. H.R. wasn’t part ofmy day-to-day life. I fit writing and publishing around my day job as a reporter and now, as editor of a small-town paper. If I’d thought the pace of life would slow once I moved to the boondocks, I was sorely mistaken on that count. Mission City kept me hopping.
Michael scored a three-pointer, and the crowd erupted in cheers. No one louder than Finn. He embraced everything in life with enthusiasm.Did he ever reach out to Giancarlo?
I’d tried. And been rebuffed. I’d explained the story was coming out in just a day and I was offering him an opportunity to set the record straight. He’d slammed the door in my face and ignored my repeated emails. Not that I’d believed he had a record to set straight. Probably his lawyer warned him about speaking to the media—or anyone else—about his situation. He was unlikely to make the situation better—but he could make it a whole lot worse if he wasn’t careful.
So I’d backed off, and the story had run as front-page news today. The paper would be distributed throughout the day and, as of yet, I hadn’t had anyone approach me about my plea for more information, complete with a promise of anonymity. I doubted the people at the game had yet seen the paper—but with the way word traveled around here, someone was bound to hear something.
Plus, time was ticking on Thelma’s adoption. I might have to break that part of the story before I had all the pieces. I absolutely didn’t want to do that.
“Mr. MacDonald.” A deep voice caught my attention.
“Mr. Clayton.” I rose and extended my hand to the principal.
He shook it. “Please, it’s Gage.”
“Then I insist on Ulysses.”
The little crow’s feet around his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “That’s fair. Do you have a moment?”
“Certainly.” Mission City had the game well in hand.
Finn didn’t appear the least bit interested.
My mind kept wandering anyway.
So I followed the tall, imposing man into the hallway.
“How are you finding things in Mission City?” He gestured toward the long hallway.
“I’m adapting.”
He chuckled. “I’ve been here twenty years, and I still say that.”
“You’re not from here?”
“No. I grew up closer to Vancouver. I graduated from teacher’s college and got a job in Mission City. My girlfriend became my wife, and we started a life here. Life proved interesting as I eventually became principal at this school and she was a guidance counselor. But we made it work.”
I cocked my head. “I thought your wife was a lawyer.”
“Ah. Rielle’s my second wife. Cara, my first wife, died suddenly a number of years ago. I’d sort of given up on love—and then fate threw Rielle in my path, and I had no chance to swerve and avoid the collision.”
“Sounds painful.”
Gage chuckled. “Best kind of collision. Meeting of the mind, body, and spirit. I used to think love was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I’d only ever loved Cara. Now, I see that simply isn’t true. That a really lucky person, if they lose one love of their life, might find happiness with a second person. I don’t know how to describe it.”
“I think you just did.” I smiled. “And now you have two young children.”
“Yes. Fatherhood at over forty caught me off guard. No regrets—but it’s a demanding thing.”
“I can imagine.” The man had gray threaded through his dark hair. “I don’t know how you do it. I look at parents and see the awesome responsibility.”
He gestured up and down the hallway. “I have a lot of responsibility—here and at home. I’m lucky I have a strong partner.”
“Sounds like it.” I eyed him. “Why are we having this conversation? Not that I mind talking—”
