Lucinda walked outside her duplex to dump her trash in the shared container her neighbor had moved to the curb for pickup, when a truck she recognized careened around the corner. It was Harris' vintage Chevy. The red vehicle squealed to a stop in front of her place and she wanted to run back inside and lock her door. Her heart pounded because she knew she had to face him. Time to cowboy up. Pun intended.
Harris jumped from his truck and slammed the door.
He's really angry.
He stomped toward her calling out irately, "Ward told me you were working for him and that you'd rented one of his properties. Why the hell–"
She lifted her hand and interrupted, "We can talk inside." She didn't wait for his response as she turned around still holding the trash bag and headed back to her duplex. She felt the bag being pulled from her grasp as Harris said, "Give me that," and watched him return to the street, dump the trash, and start toward her again. She hurried to her door.
As soon as they entered the front room he said, "What the hell are you doing in Paxtonville? And why in God’s name are you working for Ward Culpepper? I promise there's no more dirt you can dig on my family!"
Lucinda winced. Then she motioned toward the couch. "Please sit down and I'll explain." She walked around the bar and into the kitchen. "I need a cup of coffee. Would you like one?"
"Hell no! All I want is answers!"
Lucinda's hands shook as she lifted the carafe and poured cold coffee into her cup. She inhaled slowly and deeply to calm her nerves as she placed the cup in the microwave. Seeing Harris' anger, which was justified, was breaking her heart. Any hope she'd harbored for reconciliation was figuratively dumped into the garbage with her trash. Harris hated her.
She inhaled again, retrieved her coffee, and stepped around the bar into the living area. Harris was still standing. Placing her cup on the coffee table, she sat on the couch and folded her hands in her lap, staring at them for a moment before fingering her eyeglasses, which was a nervous habit. She resettled her glasses and then stared up at Harris. For a moment something unnamable flickered in his chestnut eyes, but it was immediately replaced by anger again.
"I'm waiting." His tone was low and gravelly.
Lucinda fortified herself before replying, "I'm really sorry about the article, Harris. In fact, you'll never know how sorry I am. And the reason I'm here is to make amends with good reporting. I plan on issuing a public apology to you and your family and the town via your local newspaper, and then responsibly cover local happenings. It's the only way I know–"
"That's a crock, Lucinda. What about The Seattle Daily?"
She had expected his rejection, but it hurt so much she wanted to cry. "I quit the Daily so I could prove to you and everyone else how much I wish I'd never written that piece." And although the part about quitting was a little white lie, it would soon be a reality.
Harris jammed on his cowboy hat that he'd been holding at his side and proclaimed, "Nothing can undo the havoc you wrecked on my family, so I suggest you leave my town and look for another job. When I think about how I fell for you, it makes me sick." He strode two steps to the door and jerked it open, and with a last glance said barely above a whisper, "I can't even stand the sight of you." And rather than slam the door, he softly closed it, which was worse than slamming.
For a long time Lucinda remained motionless; her coffee forgotten. But she finally broke into tears. Speaking into the empty room she proclaimed, "Harris, I promise I'll prove to you that I'm sorry."