Monday. Drew sat at his desk, gathering his thoughts for the weekly editorial.
“I’m off to have lunch with the mayor.” Barry, his full-time reporter, paused at the front door.
“Tell her hello from me,” Drew said without looking up. “Ask her when city council’s going to approve funds for a homeless shelter.”
It was a joke, but after the events of yesterday, it was a poor one.
Drew had felt stricken to realize that Terese and her daughter, Lisa, had no place to live, that they’d actually been moving from one vacant cottage to another for about four months now.
What a darn shame that someone could be in desperate need of shelter while all those fancy places people had the nerve to call cottages went empty. He didn’t blame Terese for what she’d done, even though it was illegal.
Thank heavens Mallory had given her another option.
He looked out the window. Across the street was Steamboat Bay and Mallory's store. She was there now, doing her year-end inventory. She wanted to get the accounting organized and her tax returns filed well in advance of the baby’s birth.
He’d helped her a little this morning before coming in to write his editorial. He hoped she didn’t overdo it this afternoon. She kept saying she was feeling fine and he shouldn’t worry, but she was pregnant. It seemed to him she ought to be cutting back on her activities even if her doctor said there was no cause.
A gust of wind set the windowpanes rattling. The forecast called for more snow—just what they didn’t need. The eighty-year-old building strained under the weight of the snow that had already fallen.
Thank heavens he didn’t have to worry about the ancient press equipment his grandfather had used. All the copy was written on, and laid out by, computer now. On press day, which was Tuesday, the computer-generated copy was taped to flats, then taken to the back room for printing. Finished papers were delivered to the post office so subscribers could receive the weekly issue on Wednesday.
Drew knew each step of the process by heart. He’d grown up on the smell of ink-and paper, and the clack, clack of the presses as they churned out copies was as soothing to him as a lullaby. Angie had loved to tell how she’d only had to take her fussing baby to the office on press day to have him fall instantly asleep.
Drew peered at the blank computer screen in front of him. Before he knew it, his fingers were moving and words appeared: Only in the Big City?
He hit Enter two times, then switched from centered to left-justified alignment. Pausing, he gazed around the room.
Barry’s chair was empty, his computer monitor dark. Against the far wall Drew could see the backs of the two women who worked on the classified section. Counting the two men in the print room, the Gazette employed six people full-time. Whatever decision he made about staying or leaving would affect them all.
Would affect the whole town.
A newspaper unified a community the way few other things could. It facilitated communication, the dissemination of information, the airing of views. Not many people understood that the way Drew did—his grandfather, then his mother had drilled the importance of journalism into him from an early age.
Drew sighed.
Then returned his gaze to the computer. There was a whole lot of white space under that headline. Time he started typing.
A few hours later, Drew had his editorial. He was tired and ready to go home, but he had to do something first. Once in the Explorer, he drove to the Hogans’.
He only had to get out of the vehicle to know the twins were home from school. A Honda Civic Hatchback sat parked in the driveway and Drew rang the doorbell.
Taylor peeked out from the front window. A few seconds later, the throbbing of the bass stopped and the door opened. As Drew stepped inside, the first thing he noticed was the smell of tobacco smoke.
After glancing around at the four teenagers gathered in the Hogan living room, he decided that he should be glad cigarette smoke was all it was.
In addition to Taylor and Warren, a tall, scrawny boy with acne scars on his cheeks and a ring through his bottom lip was present. Sitting beside him was a girl, her hair bleached white and her skin sickly pale.
“What's up, Drew?” Taylor asked. He had one hand on the door frame, the other stuffed in his baggy jeans. He’d uttered the words casually, but his eyes kept shifting to his brother, who sat on the sofa, arms crossed rebelliously over his chest
“Checking up on us, I’d guess,” Warren said.
Drew shook his head. “No. I came to apologize.”
“Yeah?” Warren looked suspicious.
Drew stepped farther inside. “Better shut the door, Taylor, or you’ll have a snowbank in the front hall.” The promised snow was falling in handfuls. He had to make this trip quick so he’d be home in time to shovel the walks before Mallory got in from work.
He removed his boots, then sat across from Warren. After a few seconds, Taylor joined his brother.
“You guys alone here?”
Warren shrugged. “Dad’s at the shop. Mom’s working. Yeah, we’re alone. What’s it to you?”
“Nothing. I guess. Just curious.” He couldn’t see any ashtrays or cigarette packs. The twins must have cleaned up before opening the door. He wondered if the smell of smoke would be gone by the time their parents arrived home, and doubted it.
“About a month ago I insinuated you two might have had something to do with vandalizing some local cottages. I found out yesterday that I was wrong. The details will be in Wednesday’s paper, but I wanted to come here to apologize to you guys.”
Maybe he should have just saved his breath. The twins were looking at him as if he were standing on the other side of a glass wall and they couldn’t hear a word he was saying.
Drew cast his mind back. Fifteen. How had it felt? The big fight for independence—that was what it had all been about. But there had been some fear, too. No matter how tough Warren and Taylor were acting, they still needed reassurance from the adults in their lives.
“I also came to offer you a job,” Drew added. Warren’s eyebrows went up. Taylor cocked his head.
“Not more snow shoveling,” Warren said, skeptical. “We’ve already got enough. Besides our house, we do Mrs. Jenkins down the street and—”
“No, not shoveling. I was thinking in terms of the paper. And not delivering it, either. I wondered if you’d like to be part-time sports reporters.”
Well, that brightened their eyes, at least. Now they looked as though they were really listening.
“I thought you could attend the local hockey games in the winter, ball games in the summer, and do little write-ups for me. Maybe get a few pictures. You guys know how to use a camera?”
They exchanged glances. “The basics,” Warren said slowly.
“Barry could share some pointers. We use a fifty- millimeter lens and a scanner. Gives us pretty good resolution. So what do you say? You up for it?”
“How much time’s this going to take?” Warren asked.
Drew squared his shoulders. “Maybe quite a bit.”
“We’ll do it,” Taylor said quickly.
Uncharacteristically, his brother didn’t argue. “Yeah. Count us in.”
Wednesday morning, a little over four thousand copies of the Hub of the Lakes Gazette were being perused by subscribers, most from the Port Carling area, others in more distant locations.
In Toronto, Claire had just dropped Jenna off at nursery school before stopping for a latte at a neighborhood coffee shop. She had her copy of the Gazette with her, and looked through the paper while she sipped at her hot drink.
Under the headline she read Drew’s editorial: I’m willing to bet most people in Port Carling think homelessness is a big-city problem. That’s what I thought, too, until this past Sunday.
Therese and her daughter reminded Claire of a student she’d had once. A sweet, but very shy girl named Nicole Bateson who had been suffering socially as well as academically. After Claire had talked to the mother about Nicole’s problems, Libby, had decided to move home to her family farm in Saskatchewan.
Now they stayed in touch via Facebook. Which was how Claire knew that Nicole had discovered a talent for sports, her mom had married a man with a daughter the same age as Nicole, and a new baby boy had recently been welcomed into the family.
Libby attributed some of the family’s new happiness to Claire’s intervention.
And maybe that was true.
In any case, it looked like Drew was busy making a difference too. Angie would be proud.
Mallory plucked her copy of the Gazette out of the mailbox on her way to work and read Drew’s editorial while she leaned against the counter, waiting for her first customer. Around one-thirty in the afternoon on Sunday, Constable Cooper checked out a complaint that smoke was coming from the MacDougals’ cottage. Now, everyone knows the MacDougals winter in Florida, so that didn't make sense.
Mallory laughed softly. “Everyone knows.” He hadn't until she’d told him.
Upon investigation, the constable found a young mother and her three-year-old child had taken up residence in the vacant cottage. The woman had recently left an abusive relationship and was down to her last few dollars.
Poor Terese. Even now, reading about it, Mallory felt awful.
Across town, Patricia Conroy was drinking coffee and eating banana bread while her husband read the editorial out loud.
“Only three years old!” Patricia shook her head. “Poor baby.”
Buddy continued: “‘The young mother was trying to start a new life for her daughter, a wholesome way of life, away from the city. She really likes Port Carling so far, if only she could afford to live here.”
Buddy set down the paper and looked at his wife. “What do you say to that?”
It was closing time, and Drew was alone when Buddy Conroy popped in for a chat.
“Good editorial, Drew. Your mother would have been proud.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. It got us thinking, Patricia and me. We have a basement apartment, with a separate entrance out the back. Would that young woman be happy living there?”
“I’m sure she’d be thrilled. But she doesn’t have much money.”
“That’s okay. We wouldn’t charge her anything until she gets a job. Even then it would be minimal. Just enough to cover the utilities, maybe a portion of the city taxes, too.”
“Buddy, that’s fantastic. I can’t believe this place. You have no idea how many calls we fielded today. We've got three different job interviews lined up, plus leads on several day cares that charge reasonable baby-sitting fees.”
Drew had them all noted on a piece of paper, and now he added Buddy’s offer, then put the folded paper in his pocket. He would run over to Mallory’s later and give the list to Terese himself.
It made for a good excuse to see Mallory; maybe she’d invite him to stay for dinner. Since the Balfours had moved in, he’d hardly seen her. Except for last night’s prenatal class. But she’d been preoccupied then; he supposed that with the baby’s arrival drawing closer, that was to be expected.
“Kind of makes you feel good, doesn’t it?” Buddy asked.
“Sure does.” Drew pulled out a chair on wheels and motioned toward Buddy. “Now that you’re here, do you have a few minutes to talk about a private matter?”
Was it his imagination, or did Buddy suddenly look nervous? Nevertheless, the lawyer unbuttoned his parka and sat down willingly.
“I was clearing out Angie’s things and I found some letters.”
Man, his desk was a mess. Drew tossed some pens back in the drawer and straightened a stack of paper that had started to topple.
“Anyway—” He took a deep breath and finally managed a glance at Buddy’s face. But Buddy wasn’t watching him; his attention was caught by something on the wall. Drew didn’t have to look to know it was the picture of Angie and her father the day Angie had officially taken over as publisher and editor of the paper.
That had been three months after his grandpa's first stroke and Angie had been obviously pregnant by that time.
“The letters were from you, Buddy. To tell you the truth, I was kind of disappointed. I was hoping to find something from my father.”
“Your father?" Buddy’s eyes were all lawyer as he shifted his focus from the photograph to the man sitting opposite him. “Don’t you waste your time thinking about that man, Drew. You’ve grown up just fine. Angie did a good job with you on her own.”
“I don’t say she didn’t.” But couldn't a man be curious? To want to know the truth about his past, the kind of people he’d come from?
“Back to the letters,” he went on. “I have them with me. I was going to drop by your office and give them to you.” He pulled the packet out from the side pocket of his briefcase and gave it to the older man.
Buddy’s hand, big and strong with wrinkled skin and age spots, trembled just a little as he accepted the letters. He held them up for a moment, then slid off the elastic so he could see them individually.
“Have you read them?”
“Skimmed few the first two,” Drew admitted.
“So you must know Angie and I were dating when she left to go to Ryerson.”
“I knew she was seeing someone. Never realized it was you.”
Buddy smiled, but with a touch of sadness. “I was broken-hearted when she told me she wasn’t planning on coming back. She was determined to be a world-class journalist and travel the globe. Just as you’ve done,” he added pointedly.
Drew stared at his own hands, which gripped the sides of his chair, and wondered. Angie had given up everything for him and for her father. And all he himself had ever done in return was take. She’d always seemed proud of his career. But had she ever wished that one day he’d settle in Port Carling?
“I sent her these letters,” Buddy was saying now, “thinking she might change her mind. But she never replied. Finally, I gave up. Once Patricia and I became serious it didn’t matter so much. But I never stopped caring for your mother. She was always a special friend to me, and to Patricia, as well.”
Drew nodded. Buddy and Patricia Conroy had always been part of his life. Hell, wasn’t it Buddy who’d taught him to fish? Taught him to ride his first two-wheeler, as well.
Drew nodded at the letters. “Keep them if you want them.”
“Thirty-five years Patricia and I have been married, this June. I figure a man who’s been happily wed for that long shouldn’t hang on to letters he sent to another woman.” Buddy tossed the packet back on the desk.
Drew didn’t know why he felt so surprised. “What should I do with them?”
“That’s up to you, I guess. “
“You're listening to Foreign Matters, broadcast every Thursday at eight o’clock....”
Mallory sat by the radio with her cup of apple-cinnamon tea. Terese was in the back room, putting Lisa to sleep. This would be their last night here. Drew had dropped by yesterday to let them know the Conroys had a basement apartment available immediately. Today Terese had gone on three job interviews, one with the principal of Bracebridge High School.
Things were quickly falling into place for the young family, but Mallory wished they could have stayed a little longer. She really got a kick out of Lisa, who always said exactly what was on her mind. And Terese was such a thoughtful houseguest it was a pleasure to have her.
“I’m Drew Driscoll.” The warm, husky voice Mallory knew so well swelled up from the radio, filling the small kitchen. “Tonight we’re discussing competition in the agriculture industry. Last week in Brussels, European Union farm ministers met to discuss ideas for reforming the common agriculture policy. Here in Canada, we have a new bill being proposed by—”
Mallory remembered the way Drew had hung around last night after passing on the information about the Conroys’ apartment. As if waiting for an invitation to dinner.
Had he noticed she was trying to see less of him? Probably. But could he have guessed the reason?
Mallory covered her face with her hands. Just the possibility of Drew suspecting her true feelings was mortifying. She could imagine the look of pity that would settle over his features. It would end their friendship, she was certain.
If he knew.
“With me today is the federal minister of Agriculture—”
But he couldn’t know, or he wouldn’t be hanging around so much. Helping her with the store inventory, shoveling her walks, stopping by after work and early in the morning before work. Not to mention spending every Tuesday evening with her at prenatal classes.
As much as Mallory adored Drew, even she admitted he had faults. For one, he usually tended to be a bit self-absorbed. But since he’d found out she was pregnant, he couldn’t have been more attentive. Plus, he’d insisted on providing financial support and being part of the baby’s life.
It was all much more than she’d expected. And yet...
“What do you say to those critics who claim your government has failed to create a rational, well- thought-out policy on agriculture in this country?”
Trust Drew to go for the jugular. Mallory had listened to enough of his interviews to know that they had a certain rhythm. Generally, he started out with the tough questions, eased up for the middle of the interview, just until his guest had begun to relax, then powered back to the big issues.
Almost like a piece of music. And orchestrated just as carefully. Mallory knew he put in hours of research before each show, and he always took in detailed notes with him.
If only personal lives could be so meticulously managed.
“How’s the inventory going?”
Drew's voice startled Mallory, causing her to drop the stack of computer printouts she’d been trying to summarize. Gracefully, he bent over and swooped them up, while she was still catching her breath.
It was Friday, lunchtime, and she'd planned on grabbing a bagel and a glass of milk at Marg’s. Now she could feel her cheeks redden and her hands start to tremble.
It's only Drew, she reminded herself. But that didn’t reassure her. She couldn’t think of him the same old way anymore. She was just so aware of him, all the time now. Today his vitality, the wattage in his smile overwhelmed her cozy, intimate shop.
“Pregnancy must have you off balance. I’ve never seen you so clumsy.” He passed her the papers with a teasing grin.
She was off balance, all right, and pregnancy had nothing to do with it.
“It was quiet in here. You shouldn’t have sneaked up on me.” Mallory stuffed the inventory sheets into a drawer, then brushed paper dust from her hands.
He appeared skeptical. “There is the bell. I did come in the front door.”
Her thoughts had been so wrapped up in him that she hadn’t noticed when he’d actually appeared.
“I guess I was preoccupied. I was wondering how Terese and Lisa were settling in over at the Conroys’.” That was an out-and-out lie, but he’d never know.
“They moved in today?” He leaned against the counter, stretching out his jean-clad legs and crossing them at the ankle.
He was wearing a black turtleneck with his jeans and a dark-blue down vest that brought out the color of his eyes. He looked so handsome, so overpoweringly male amid the feminine surroundings that her heart ached.
“Yeah. Buddy picked them up this morning. Not that they had much to transport in the way of luggage.”
“At least the Conroys’ place comes furnished.”
She nodded. “I’m so proud of you, Drew. That editorial you wrote has made such a difference.”
Drew’s smile broadened. “It does seem to have helped, doesn’t it? On the drive home from Toronto I thought about all the articles I wrote while working for the Globe and even later, when I was freelancing. Lots were pretty good. Some even made people critically examine things that were happening at the time.”
“Yes, I know.” She’d shared some of those successes with him during late-night, long-distance phone calls.
“But I don’t think I’ve ever had such a clear sense of having righted a wrong. It’s a small thing. Just one woman and her child. But it feels good. It feels damn good.”
“I’m glad.” In the old days she might have touched him. Squeezed his shoulder or given him a hug. Now she was much too conscious of the span of his shoulders, the strength of his arms, of her ever-present desire to have him hold her the way a man holds the woman he loves.
“Anyway—” Drew’s chest expanded as he took a deep breath “—it got me pondering the future. I used to think I had to work in the big arena—you know what I mean?”
She nodded, eager to know where this was headed.
“For the first time it occurred to me that I might be happy staying in Port Carling, keeping up the old Gazette. I wouldn’t have to give up every part of my career....”
Oh, she couldn’t believe it! Was he serious? Was this really happening? “You’d keep the radio program,” she said cautiously. There had to be a catch. No way would Drew Driscoll really stay in Port Carling.
“Sure. And I could handle the odd assignment.”
He didn’t sound so sure about that, though. She peered at him, trying to gauge his emotions. “The decision wouldn’t be irrevocable,’’ she pointed out
He had no comment on that point, but his gaze slid down to her belly. “How’s the baby?’’ he asked, reaching out to touch the firm roundness under her blouse.
“Fine. Good.’’ He was letting his hand linger against the silky fabric, obviously unaware what his touch did to her these days. She avoided his eyes, focusing on the silver zip of his warm down vest, swallowing when his hand began to move in a caressing circle, before sliding to the small of her back.
It was happening again. One of those sharp, intense moments when all she could think about was how it had felt to have Drew make love to her.
“Mallory?’’ His voice had softened and deepened. When she still wouldn’t look at him, he caught her chin with his fingers and raised her face a couple of inches.
“Something’s gone wrong between us, hasn’t it? You don’t seem to want to spend as much time with me. Are you getting tired of having me around? Have I been making a nuisance of myself?’’
“Never.’’ She’d put too much feeling in that word. Damn. She swallowed and wondered just how much she’d revealed. She ought to crack a joke of some sort to lighten the mood, but her brain was stalled.
“I’m glad.” He put his other arm around her back and pulled her close. “Because I like being with you. When I’m not at work, it’s you I want to be with.”
Oh, what was he saying? She could feel her bones giving way; her whole body was about to melt into his. And just then, the baby started kicking. Her eyes widened, and Drew guessed what was going on.
“The baby?”
She nodded.
“May I?”
She couldn’t deny him this, and so she placed his hand over the area the baby was kicking.
Drew’s eyes brightened. “Wow. Feels like you have a budding soccer player in there. This is amazing, Mal. Isn’t it?”
She couldn’t tear her gaze from his. He looked so excited and happy. For almost a full minute they stood that way. Then the baby stopped moving. And Drew slid his hands from her tummy, to her back. Slowly he pulled her in close.
And the expression in his eyes shifted from amazement to passion.
He was going to kiss her.