Gone to Green (3 page)

My comments seemed a bit lightweight—corny stories like the time Ed put a banana on my telephone and called me, so I would pick the fruit up, thinking it was the receiver. I kept my comments short.

“No cry fest and no superhero stuff,” Ed told me in one of my final visits with him.

At the service, I surprised myself and several other people by saying a short prayer. “Thank you, God, for the impact of Ed's life. Have mercy on all of us in the days ahead that we might be the people we were meant to be. Amen.”

My colleagues and I awkwardly walked away from the grave. We were good at writing about emotion, but we didn’t quite know how to handle it in this first-person version.

I cried all the way back to the newsroom, having designated myself the editor to make sure the Sunday paper got out. Sadness washed over me. Ed had never gotten the chance to live his new adventure, to try out his newspaper, to get out of Dayton and into Green, Louisiana.

His obit had missed the lead. Instead of going on and on about his distinguished career in journalism and how he was nearing retirement and loved to fish, it should have highlighted the new life he had planned. Ed wasn’t wrapping up a career. He was about to embark on a Louisiana journey.

As I hit “send” on a story, I saw Zach strolling toward me. Since he usually only phoned in on Saturdays, his appearance surprised me. Sitting on the corner of my desk, he chitchatted about the next day's edition and picked up a paper clip, moving it back and forth between his fingers.

“I appreciated what you said at the funeral, Lois,” he said, laying down the paper clip. “I really wish I’d known Ed better, like you did. You did a great job capturing his personality—made me wish I’d taken more time to know what made him tick.”

Zach absently rummaged through my candy jar. “Moving around like I have these past few years,” he said, “I just haven’t gotten to know people deeply the way you knew Ed.”

Embarrassed and feeling like I might cry again, I concentrated on my computer screen and deleted old e-mails to avoid eye contact.

“You know, Ed thought the world of you,” Zach said. “Told me often how talented you are and how you’d be running your own paper one day. You know that, right?”

I sort of laughed, self-conscious and a little proud. “Oh, Ed liked me because we had worked together forever. He taught me so much.”

“Well, I agree with Ed. I want to offer you his job—the managing editor's job.” My eyes widened. I closed my computer screen and slowly rolled my chair back. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’d like you to be the next M.E. I’ve already run it by corporate and gotten their okay.”

Rumors had swirled in the newsroom about who would take Ed's place, but this had been one game I’d not let myself get drawn into, mostly because I knew it would mean Ed was truly gone.

Part of me was excited at the idea of a promotion. The other part was annoyed that Zach's plans had been put into motion before he talked to me and that corporate had already signed off on my life.

“Well?” Zach said. “Is that a yes?”

I realized I hadn’t given him an answer. I picked up my pencil and doodled on my ever-present reporter's notebook. The ambition in me fought with the fatigue and uncertainty these past weeks had unleashed. Ambition won.

“Thanks, Zach. That sounds great. Thanks. Sure. I’d love to be the M.E.” I tried to sound enthusiastic.

“Fantastic!” He leaned over my desk to shake my hand. “I look forward to working more closely with you. I’ll iron out the details with HR, and we’ll tell the staff within the next week or so.”

“Sounds good to me. Thanks again. I guess I’ll head on home. I’m pretty tired.” A great need to escape engulfed me.

My neat little condo with one puny pink geranium on the patio was about all I could handle at that moment. I walked straight to the bedroom and flopped down on my dark green comforter. I was too beat to think about how my life was about to change.

I briefly considered setting my alarm for church the next day, a habit I had long ago given up. I needed the inspiration, but I could not bring myself to do it.

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O
n Monday morning I slid in barely in time to touch base with my reporters. After a flat news meeting—they had all seemed flat these past few weeks—Zach stopped by my desk, told me he needed to talk to me, and motioned me to his office.

Before I could stand up, my phone rang. I groaned inwardly. Good customer service—“service with excellence!”—was more important to Zach than the newsroom management structure. I had better take the call, even though I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wanted to hide under my desk and suck my thumb.

A polite woman asked if I was Lois Barker. “Yes, ma’am, may I help you?” I asked. She had the sound of the women from the monthly clubs who call in their notices instead of mailing them. I opened a computer file and prepared to take the dreaded dictation.

“Good morning, Ms. Barker. I’m the administrative assistant to Attorney Frank Owens. He asked me to call you and make an appointment with him right away to discuss a business matter.”

As a journalist, I’m what some might call naturally suspicious. I prefer to think of it as skeptical. No way did I want to chase a news tip or sit through another meeting where a mover-and-shaker complained about one of my reporters. I had met Frank Owens a few years ago at a Rotary Club meeting, and he was a force to be reckoned with in Dayton. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m tied up this week. Could someone else assist Mr. Owens?”

“No, Ms. Barker. Mr. Owens needs to meet with you either today or tomorrow if possible.”

I sighed inwardly, set the meeting for first thing the next morning, and headed into Zach's office. But our session was interrupted before we got started by an emergency Executive Committee meeting.

“Sorry, Lois. The E.C. has called a meeting to discuss budget cuts. Before long, you’ll be solving these problems for us,” Zach said, as he headed off with a legal pad and calculator.

“Ha. Ha,” I said out loud to the empty room, wondering what in the world I was getting myself into. I was excited about the promotion—and a little smug that I had passed over the other editors. But I felt like an impostor stepping into someone else's life.

Zach surfaced a couple of times during the day and apologized for canceling on me. I was kind of relieved. In fact, I was so exhausted that if it weren’t for the special project I needed to finish, I’d duck out early. “I promise we’ll talk first thing in the morning,” he said. “The ball is rolling, so you should give some thought as to what will be on your agenda for your first one hundred days as M.E.”

Not likely. My brain had already shut down for the day.

The next morning I put on one of my nice doing-business-downtown outfits, feeling remarkably stylish with the way it looked with my long dark hair and brown eyes. I drove to the attorney's office, having found no graceful way to put off the meeting.

I’m not grouchy by nature, but too many people want a piece of me on most days, ranging from the mayor to the school superintendent to lawyers, doctors, and shop owners. I was not looking forward to this encounter.

When I walked into the law firm, Frank stood in the outer office, chatting with his secretary. He shook my hand, offered me a cup of coffee that I turned down, and directed me to his executive conference room lined with law books. He pulled out a chair for me.

“Thanks for coming, Lois. I’m sorry for pushing you on this meeting, but there's a deadline involved, and I need to talk with you face-to-face.”

Oh, great, a deadline. He had waited until the last minute to do a news release on something and wanted me to get it in. Give me a break. How did I let myself get roped into this? Why don’t people just fax me stuff? Annoyed, I almost missed the reason for the meeting.

“This involves your friend Ed. I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said, handing me a manila folder. Taking the file, I immediately skimmed the first sheet as he talked.

I’m not quite sure what Frank said after that because I was staring at a copy of Ed's will. Make that Ed's last will and testament, dated about two months ago, on one of the days Ed had taken off work to handle some business.

I glanced up at Frank with what I hoped was a polite, curious smile and looked him in the eye. He smiled back at me.

“As I was saying, Lois, Ed came in here a few months ago to get his business in order. He didn’t know he was sick, but he wanted all the loose ends tied up as he closed the deal on the newspaper in Louisiana. He told me he had informed you about his purchase.”

“Yes, he was so excited, Frank, but I don’t know what this has to do with me. I need to get back to the newsroom. I don’t mean to be crass or anything, but did Ed want me to help with his estate or something?”

“Well, I suppose you could say that, Lois. Ed designated you as the beneficiary of one of his most prized possessions—”

I interrupted him with a big smile. “His Camaro? He left me his 1966 Camaro?”

“I’m afraid not. That went to his next-door neighbor.”

“Mr. Hamilton? He's eighty years old—what does he need with a vintage Camaro?” Suddenly, I felt idiotic and shut up. My stomach was churning… had been since Saturday.

“Again, Lois, I apologize for rushing you on this meeting. As you might say in the news business, this is a pretty big story. Ed has made you the owner of his newspaper in Green, Louisiana,
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.

I stood up and then sat back down before I stood up again. I think I asked for a bottle of water, but I’m not sure.

“Please, Lois, have a seat. I know this must be a shock.”

“Frank, you can’t be serious. I mean Ed and I were friends and all, but … a newspaper!” And then I cried—for that moment when I thought, “I’m rich,” and then, “Or am I?” and for my deep sorrow that Ed was gone and for my total confusion.

I took the Kleenex the attorney offered.

Frank sat quietly. The Chamber of Commerce Outstanding Business Leader clock on the conference room wall ticked loudly. Slowly, I picked through my scattered thoughts and found my wits.

“Let me try to understand. Can you walk me through this? What about Ed's brother?”

For a moment Frank looked like he was going to pat me on the head as though I were a small child.

“You may know that Ed and his ex-wife had no surviving children. Their only child died in a car accident twenty years ago. Ed's brother is a missionary in Chile, and I don’t think I’m violating Ed's confidence when I say he didn’t think the newspaper would be a good fit for a pastor.”

I had met Ed's “brother the Father” a handful of times over the years. He was as far from being a journalist as I was from being a missionary.

“But won’t he be upset?” I quickly scanned the document in my hand again.

“His brother has been taken care of, Lois. Let's talk about you and your newspaper. The owners want to meet with you as soon as possible. They’re a little nervous about this deal and want to wrap it up quickly. Ed agreed that any owner he transferred the paper to would hold onto it for at least a year, allowing for continuity. The owners want to make sure it doesn’t revert back to their family.”

By the time I left Frank's office two hours later, I knew three things: Ed was even more of a stand-up guy than I realized, I needed to make the second trip I’d ever taken to Louisiana, and my life had been turned upside down.

I was supposed to keep the paper one year.

Walking slowly to my car, I longed to take the afternoon off so I could think this through. Maybe I could plead a terrible headache and head home. City editors have a weird, overblown sense of duty, though, and I felt bad even considering it. With Ed gone, we were shorthanded and short-tempered as it was. But if I couldn’t even take the afternoon off, how could I possibly visit Green and deal with this new drama in my life?