The Monday After the Flight
I was looking forward to Steph returning to work today. It was always extra on me as assistant news director when she was gone. I could be faced with any number of decisions to make, from legal issues about whether we could run an image or a piece of music, to factual issues and whether we were being fair to both sides, to basic HR things—someone needed to take bereavement, someone else was having back surgery, two employees were sniping about each other and needed an intervention, things like that.
My days were nonstop anyway, what with a pair of teenagers at home, which meant running a shuttle service to practices, rehearsals, and hangout times, but then add in Stephanie being gone—and she was kind of gone a lot, in my opinion—and I had my hands full at work too.
I’d see her for the 8:30 manager meeting and fill her in on the stuff I had dealt with: We had a reporter who was complaining that she didn’t like to do live shots in the cold, and our chief meteorologist, who was so popular with the public, was being difficult again. He had retweeted something political that he shouldn’t have. We had an election to plan for and Black History Month coming up in just a week that we needed to finalize stories for. But there were no major issues while she was gone. No one had walked into my office and said they were quitting; no one had complained that they absolutely couldn’t work with so-and-so. All things considered, it was a good week.
I said goodbye to my wife, Ellen, and son, Will, but took my daughter, Claire, her giant cello, and the dog with me in the car. Driving Claire to middle school and dragging her cello out of the back of the minivan, I nearly dropped it in the process.
“Daaaad,” she moaned, but scooped it into her skinny arms and ran off without so much as a goodbye. Next I left Barkley at the way-too-expensive doggie daycare that Ellen insisted on so he wouldn’t get bored. Barkley also left me without so much as a proverbial dog wave.
The final stop before work was the McDonald’s drive-through for coffee. It was cheaper than Starbucks and, in my opinion, better. Taking my mega-cup into the station with me, I gave a hello to Bernie at the reception desk and went into the newsroom, where the place was just coming alive.
Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was 8:23. The manager meeting started in seven minutes. Steph’s door was closed and the light was off. She was usually here by this time, but maybe she got stopped by a train or something. Continuing to look over my emails, I evaluated our reporter-photographer pairings and story selections for the day.
At 8:29, her door remained shut. The other managers were gathering in the conference room across the newsroom. A tinge of annoyance surged through me. If she was going to be late, couldn’t she have the decency to let me know? Double-checking my phone in case I’d missed anything, and seeing that I hadn’t, I shot her a quick text:
Are you running late? Do you need me to start the meeting?
No response. The clock moved to 8:30 and I sighed, picking up my laptop and walking into the conference room. The rest of the managers looked at me quizzically.
“Where’s Stephanie?” our digital director, Lucy, asked. “Isn’t she back today?”
“I’m not sure. Let’s get started and we’ll bring her up to speed when she gets here,” I replied.
Running a meeting was bad enough. Running one when you weren’t expecting to was worse. I felt out of sorts and screwed up the order of people I needed to call on, even though I had done it many times.
When we broke at 8:50, I checked my phone again. Nothing. Now I felt a prickle of worry. This was really unlike Steph. Had something happened? A car accident on the way to work? No, it couldn’t be that. One thing about working in a TV station: You knew of every accident, shooting, stabbing, heart attack, fire, and train derailment in a five-county area. Police scanners were on 24/7, and those who were monitoring them at the assignment desk would have alerted us if anything big happened.
The dayside executive producer, Nora, must have sensed my feelings because she lingered in the conference room after the others had left.
“Is everything OK with Steph?” she whispered. “Wasn’t she supposed to come back today?”
“Yeah, I thought so too, unless I missed a memo or something,” I said, walking back to my desk to make sure that wasn’t the case. But no, the last correspondence from Steph was a “yes” response to an election meeting I had set up. It had come late Wednesday afternoon. She had probably done it from the Denver airport on the layover.
Picking up my phone, I called her. It went immediately to voicemail. I tried texting again.
Everything OK? We’re getting a little worried. People are asking about you. Aren’t you supposed to be back today?
Nothing.
In the meantime, I had a newsroom to run. Reporters and photojournalists had to be assigned; producers had to know what to put in their shows. The nine a.m. newsroom meeting was coming right up.
I pushed any thoughts of something terrible out of my head and went to work, running the meeting as well as I could in my still-foggy, not-prepared-to-do-this mode.
I told the team Steph was coming in later; after all, no need to worry them too. We got reporters out the door on their stories, and I was just considering whether to alert our GM about the situation when my phone pinged with a text.
It was her!
I pounced at it, eager to see what excuse she had. I really couldn’t imagine a good one unless she told me she was in the hospital with appendicitis.
Hi, sorry for the late notice. Something very unexpected happened at the conference and it required me to go to Atlanta. I will need to be off this entire week. Maybe more but I’ll keep you posted. Thank you in advance.
I had to read the text three times. She was in Atlanta and asking for the entire week off? Maybe more? And she was springing this on me now? I must have had a shocked look on my face because Nora came over to me.
“Did you find out something? Is she all right?”
“She’s in Atlanta,” I said in a low voice so no one would hear. “For a week … or more.” I passed her my phone and her eyes skimmed the words.
“What the heck?” she asked. “What do you think happened at the conference?”
“I don’t know.” I felt myself running my hands through my hair in a nervous habit that always annoyed Ellen. My mind was already racing ahead to the week—we had the election planning meeting she had RSVP’d for, a reporter-candidate interview, and I was supposed to be off Thursday and Friday. Now would I even be able to do that?
“Well, answer her and maybe she’ll tell you more,” Nora whispered. We were both trying not to bring attention to our situation. The rest of the newsroom was in normal busy mode, though, and no one seemed to be paying attention to us. I took my phone back and quickly typed.
This is really sudden news, Stephanie. Can you tell me more? I can run the newsroom but we have a lot on our plates this week and I’m off Thursday and Friday, remember? Did you want to reschedule the election meeting too?
I watched as the typing bubbles were going.
Don’t worry, I’m fine. I know it’s sudden but sometimes things pop up. Please reschedule the meeting.
Taking a deep breath, I wrote back.
OK. Do you have a second to talk on the phone? If you’re going to be out all week there are some things we should touch base on.
It took twenty minutes before she responded. This time it wasn’t a text but a voice memo. I hit play, and her voice said:
“No, I really don’t have a moment. Please don’t check in with me until next week. I will be very busy.”
Now the anger surged. This was how she was going to treat me? I wasn’t sure what else to say.
My fingers hovered over the phone as my mind whirred for a proper reaction to my direct supervisor. In the end, I just hit the thumbs-up button because I felt anything else I tried would be either too nice or too snarky for the moment. I needed to collect my thoughts.
After I passed Nora the phone, she read the rest of the text exchange and listened to the voice memo.
“Well, that’s just a shitty thing for her to do,” she said. “She had better have a damn good reason.”
“I know,” I responded. “I just don’t know what it could be.”
The only thing I could think of was that maybe she was looking for a new job. Perhaps someone at the conference had started courting her to move to Atlanta, and she was down there interviewing. That made the most sense, but I had never heard of a job interview going an entire week.
One thing was for sure, the general manager of our station needed to know that his news director was out. I sent him a direct message on our Teams platform asking to see him, and he told me to come right down.
I wasn’t used to going to the GM’s office. That was largely Steph’s duty, and she reported back to me anything critical. I felt a little nervous walking up there but also felt that he would definitely want this info, perhaps for more reasons than one. If she was looking for a new job, it was not my duty to protect that info. She hadn’t asked me to either. But it was my duty to let him know that his news director was unexpectedly out.
Dave’s office had a huge bank of windows overlooking a sloping drive that led to the parking lot. He was seated in a leather office chair looking through some papers when I reached his doorway. He didn’t turn his head but must have seen me out of his peripheral vision because he said:
“Bruce, come on in. What can I do for you?”
I ran my hand through my hair again and stepped forward.
“Hi, Dave, sorry to bother you.” I sat down across from him nervously. “I just … I just wanted to let you know that I got a text from Stephanie. It appears she’s planning to take the whole week off. Maybe you’re already aware, apologies if you are, but if not…”
Dave had a habit of stroking his mustache when he spoke and started doing so now.
“She’s out this week? She was just in San Diego last week. I did not know about this. Did she say why? Or where she is?”
“Well, sir, uh.” I hesitated. “Do you want to read the texts?” It seemed better than me trying to explain. He could decide for himself. I slid my phone across the wide dark oak desk. As he read, his bushy eyebrows went up.
“This is unlike Stephanie. I have never known her to leave the newsroom without a lot of advance notice. Let me try to reach her. She always answers my calls.”
He opened a desk drawer and pulled out his own phone, pushing a single button and holding it to his ear. I could hear voicemail picking up. He looked annoyed.
“Stephanie, Dave Jenssen. Call me the minute you get this. I need to know what’s going on.”
He hung up and said, “I’m sure she’ll be getting right back to me. I’ll be in touch when I do talk to her, Bruce, and thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
Nodding, I walked back to the newsroom, confident that Dave would get the full story. She couldn’t lie to her boss.
The day went by as a news day does. The noon show needed attention, then lunch and the two o’clock afternoon meeting to get nightside crews going, then the four o’clock show and the rest of the evening shows were on tap. It was 4:30 and I was just looking over final scripts from reporters when Dave sent me a Teams message asking me to come back down to his office. Relief and curiosity flooded me. At least we would have some real answers.
“Bruce, Stephanie has not responded to me all day. I left three messages. I am extremely upset with her. If you hear from her again, even in the form of a text, let me know. And Bruce—let’s not get others involved right now. Keep this between us.”
“Will do, sir,” I said, the pit of anger suddenly resettling into my stomach, replacing the emotions that had been there just moments prior. How could she not respond to Dave?
As I walked back to the newsroom, a sudden thought hit me: Dave asked me not to say anything to anyone, but I had already told Nora. Now I would have to make sure she kept it quiet. Butterflies flew into my stomach.
Then a different thought came to mind.
What if Steph got fired and I was promoted? It was something I had wanted for a long time, never thinking it was possible at this station. As much as I liked Steph and enjoyed working for her, if she dug her own career grave, that was on her. The thought of more money for the big chair made my eyes glisten. I didn’t know what Steph made, but it had to be at least $20K more than me. Oh, that would help with two growing kids and looming college tuitions. I would have to keep in Dave’s good graces, just in case.
Back in the newsroom, Nora was talking with a producer. I made eye contact and motioned her to the back conference room.
“Do you have any news about Steph?” she hissed.
“No,” I replied. “But I’m going to have to ask you not to say anything to anyone about this. Keep it between us. Until we find out what’s going on, it’s best that we not gossip about anything.”
Her face blanched, and her eyes shot to the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “A few people asked me if I had heard anything and I told them about her texts … I didn’t know it was a secret.”
Damn it. I cursed at myself for telling her in the first place.
“If it’s any help,” she went on, barely lifting her eyes to look at me, “I know Lucy texted Steph and Steph texted back.”