She stood in the doorway staring at him, arms folded across her chest. He couldn’t read any emotion on her face, only eyes staring, a slight downward turn to the mouth. He wondered about that short hair of hers. Why didn’t she let it grow? It had been long when he hired her.
“Come on in,” he said.
He smiled and nodded as she sat. He felt good about her. She may not have been there for the nightmare of the past few days, but he knew that she too had suffered. Of course, she had.
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds. He waited for her. She seemed to be searching for a comfortable position in the chair. Finally, she leaned forward, resting her arms on his desk, hands folded, and he saw the beginnings of a smile.
“Tell me,” she said. “What happened?” It was a gentle question, friendly.
“With Debbie?”
She nodded.
She got the news Monday night. She had only been home a few minutes and had reached for the phone to call Debbie. This was a night when she wanted to talk to her. She wanted to tell her about the decision she made. She wanted to tell her that as much as she loved New Mexico, and she did love it, she wasn’t going back. She was going to make the phone calls to those big cities of Joan McBain’s. Debbie would be happy for her. Yes, she would.
The call to Debbie went unanswered. Ten minutes later her own phone rang. It was Chuck Farrell.
“She must have been hiking or something,” he told her. “She fell about forty or fifty feet. They say it was a head injury. Must have been immediate. At least, I think so. I hope so.”
So did she.
Brown’s deep sigh brought her back to her question.
“Yes, Jim, what happened to Debbie.”
“Gosh,” he shook his head, “it’s been rough. I wish you’d been here. We needed you. I didn’t know where you were, nobody did. Not until Monday, anyway.” He paused.
“She was quite a gal, quite a gal,” he said and rubbed at the corner of one eye.
She nodded pleasantly.
“Have you had a chance to see the stories we did? We did our best.” He raised his gaze above her head.
What was it she wanted? She did want something.
“So?” He opened his own hands wide and shrugged.
She shook her head, making a tisking sound with her tongue.
“Hey, you know, we want to make some sense out of this, make some good come out of it. And, you can help us.” He could see the interest in her eyes.
“What we need to do is some sort of series on the dangers of living here. But,” he stopped, searching for the right idea, “but not everyday dangers. We’ll do it on the dangers of things that seem like fun, recreation.”
He nodded sagely. This was a good idea.
Her slight smile and nod signaled her agreement.
“You know, the dangers of swimming pools and going out on the lakes.”
“Exploring,” she added. “Camping.”
“Right, right, you’ve got it,” he exclaimed happily. “People going out in the desert. We’ll tell them the dangers and how to avoid them. A desert-survival handbook sort of thing. Maybe we’ll even put together a booklet. People can call in and get one.”
He liked it. He liked it a lot.
“Of course, we wouldn’t get rolling on it for a month or so. We’d run it around summer vacation time, but we should be thinking it now.”
“And, we have some great footage,” she said.
“Hmm.” He nodded.
“We have all that footage of people being hurt while they’re out having fun in the sun,” she offered with a wry smile.
He didn’t like that smile or the tone of her voice.
“We have some footage, yes,” he said with a warning note of his own, “but that’s not the point.”
She gave a short laugh. “Oh, I think that is exactly the point. Think about it. We could do one part on the dangers of hiking without ever leaving the station.”
“Ellen, is there something you want to say?” he asked, annoyed.
“No. I’m here to find out what happened to Debbie.”
“You know what happened.”
“No. I know what happened on the mountain, I guess.” She shrugged. “But I don’t know what happened here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have a feeling something happened here at the station, something not so nice. Now, why would I feel that way, Jim?”
She leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs. She ran her hand along the crease in one leg of her black slacks.
“I hear Debbie had some trouble here before she went on her little walk,” she said, playing with the crease.
He swallowed hard.
“I hear there was some problem with Tom and she ran out of here in tears,” Ellen continued.
His face went tight, the fear starting low in his chest.
“It’s the little things that make a story interesting. Don’t you think?” She smiled.
“Ellen, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but you’re wrong, whatever it is,” he stated strongly.
“Really? And here I’m thinking it might make it a better story, a little extra something nobody’s talked about. Isn’t that what makes it news, even now? And we do love our news, don’t we, Jimmy.” She grinned. “So why don’t we talk about what happened to her here that set her off that morning?”
“Nothing happened here,” he declared firmly to hide his growing fear.
“Of course,” she went on,” nobody really cares, but if they did, all you would have to do was tell them how much we loved good old Debbie and how much she loved her job and how happy she was here, like all of us. Right?”
Suddenly, she felt incredibly tired. All the other things she wanted to say, all the anger she put into the words she rehearsed, had faded away. She stood.
“What’s it to you, Ellen?” he demanded, sensing the weakness. “How much did you ever care about Debbie, or anybody else, for that matter? What kind of a friend were you to Debbie?”
Now he could have his own smile.
“I think you’re in shock, Ellen. You go home and cool off. When you come back, we’ll have a talk about how you see your work and your future here.”
She left his office without shutting the door.
He waited for a few seconds before going to the doorway and looking out. He could see her, the top of her head over the cubicle partitions. He quickly pulled back and closed the door. He sat in his chair. He was shaking.
She could cause some trouble. Yes, she could, with that big mouth of hers. She’d make a few phone calls and he’d get the questions. The whole thing was supposed to be over and done with. He heard about the argument with Carter. Carter said it was nothing. Both of them letting off some steam.
“I only asked her where she had been and why she wasn’t answering the phone,” Carter told him. “What the hell? If you ask me, the girl was always a little loose around the gills.”
And now there was this other thing, this phone call from Clifford Williams. Steve told him he called and said he was halfway to New York.
“Said he was going to buy a fur coat,” Steve said and grinned. “Though you might like to know.”
The only black in the newsroom leaves, no explanation. It might look bad to the people Back East. Then again, maybe not. You could never tell with those guys.
*
Chuck Farrell watched as Ellen threw papers and tapes into a box.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Another tape clattered into the box. “He wants me to do a series on hiking accidents, but frankly, I don’t think I want to.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care, Chuck, but I have to get out of here.”
“You know, Ellen,” he said softly, “we’re all just trying to earn a living. That’s all. We’re people doing a job. We’re all trying to survive.”
“Good for you, Chuck, but I can’t, not this way.” Her voice broke with the words. “I’m definitely not tough enough for this.”
She picked up the box and walked down the cubicle row. She paused at Carter’s office. He wasn’t there.