Rene Gutteridge - Listen

“He’s very upset that the conversation is on that Web site. I don’t blame him. I would be upset too. And… you’re going to be upset also.” The napkin was in shreds. Usually when she said he was going to be upset, she was right.

“What?”

It took three false starts, but finally Angela said, “The conversation on the Web site is about you.” She opened her hands up, trying to explain. “I was angry with you. I didn’t mean what I said. I was upset and I said some things. I never intended for anyone else to hear them.”

“What exactly did you say?”

“Mike’s scared of you, okay? It’s no secret what you put Vincent MaLue through.”

“Get to the point.”

“We were having a fight, and he said he wasn’t going to put up with you harassing him. Things were already getting weird. I was aggravated, and I said some things about you, all right?”

Frank felt his nostrils flare. That wasn’t a good sign. “All right.”

She reached for his hand. “I knew you’d understand.”

“I don’t understand why you’re here.”

Tears again, shiny and plump, balanced on her eyelashes. “I’m scared. I’ve made a huge mess here. His wife is furious, and I’ve heard a few things about her. I think she’s unstable. And Mike… he’s got a temper. He’s never hit me or hurt me or anything like that, but he keeps getting more agitated, and when he’s agitated, he doesn’t seem to think clearly.”

“What do you want?”

“I didn’t mean all that stuff I said to Damien.” Angela stared at the ceiling for a moment.

Frank’s heart thumped heavily with dread.

“I would never sue you. And even though I saw you there, over the fence, I know deep down inside you’re a good-”

“What are you talking about?”

They exchanged a tense stare, even as the waitress came and refilled Frank’s Diet Coke.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Angela said.

“Know what?”

“I’m trying to have an adult conversation with you. I came here, told you what’s going on, even though really, you already knew, didn’t you? Because you were spying on me.” She took a deep breath. “I thought you were the one that put the conversation on the Internet. But when I went to look at the Web site, there are so many conversations. I don’t know… I don’t think you did it anymore.”

“You thought I was the one doing this?”

“I saw you that day. You were behind the fence of Mike’s house. You were walking away when I came out the back door.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re telling me you weren’t spying on me and Mike?”

“I don’t know who Mike is. I didn’t know you were seeing someone. If I did, I wouldn’t have filed a missing person report. Because I would’ve known you’d probably moved in with him after the fourth date.”

Angela’s eyes widened with offense. “That was cruel.”

“What do you want from me? Why are you here?”

She wadded up what little bit was left of the napkin and threw it on the table. “I don’t know. You act like I’m the only person in your life, and then when I need your help, suddenly you’re not interested?”

“You need my help to get yourself out of this tangled web you’ve created; is that it?”

Her voice reduced to a whisper. “I’m scared. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think that woman might do something crazy. I’m going to break it off with Mike, but I don’t really know what he’s going to do either. I just thought…” She bit her lip, smiled sweetly at him. It was that very smile on a Sunday in May that had made Frank realize he would marry this woman. “I need your help. That’s what I’m saying. I need your help to get out of this.”

Frank’s elbow went into his plate and came out with sweet and sour sauce dripping off it.

Angela grabbed his napkin, stood, leaned across the table, and dabbed. She was close to him, her hair swinging in front of his face, her perfume filling his nostrils.

He closed his eyes, trying to find clarity, but all he saw was their wedding day. Her dress, with a lovely, blissful train of white, flowing with life as she gracefully strolled down the aisle. The wispy veil, with tiny pink flowers dotted across it, fluttered against her face, giving him only glimpses into her eyes. The moment he lifted the veil and smoothed it over her beautiful hair, his heart had skipped a beat and caused a deep devotion that he couldn’t explain to this day.

She stared at him as if there were nothing else in the room. “Frank?”

Frank fled the memory, snapping back into reality.

Angela sat across from him. A smile belied her unblinking eyes.

“Angela, you know that I’ve always loved you. And I always will.”

Her smile spread into a grin. “I know.”

“But I can’t help you with this. I can’t step into this situation. I can’t. I won’t.”

Few things ever seemed to surprise Angela Owens Merret. Or at least she’d always had the ability to play it cool.

Not today. She stood, her chair falling backward and rattling against the floor. She dropped a few expletives on the table before she stomped out, leaving Frank with a plate full of cold food and a room full of people staring at him. Including Gavin.

Frank rose, throwing some money on the table.

Gavin hurried over, carrying his plate. “I’m not quite done here. We just-”

“Don’t wet yourself, kid. I’ll be back to get you.”

“You’re leaving me here? Again?”

“Eat your lunch. I’ll be back.”

There was someone he desperately needed to see. And nobody else would do but her.

Damien stood in Edgar’s office, hands clasped behind his back, lips pressed together to hide any disappointment.

Unfortunately Edgar was not being as gracious. His gaze zipped back and forth, up and down, over the entire page. He slapped the paper down on his desk on top of the other piece of paper he’d already slapped down. “What is this?”

“It’s my op-ed and my investigative piece on-”

“I know what it is,” Edgar growled. “I also know what it isn’t. It’s terrific writing. Insightful. Poignant at moments. Humorous.”

Damien smiled. “Thank you.”

“It isn’t the least bit interesting or relevant.” Edgar’s voice, baritone and full, sounded loud without much volume. “Why would you write a piece about church?”

“Well, I-”

“About your memories of your father and mother dressed up, all this nostalgia bull. Do you really think people care about this?”

“I don’t understand. This isn’t any different from what I’ve written in the past.”

“Exactly. Except, if you haven’t noticed, this town is in an uproar.” Edgar looked out of breath. His eyes seemed unusually frantic. Edgar was a loud guy, but it was usually just for show. Something was different.

“The Web site.”

“Yes! Yes, the Web site! It’s all anyone’s talking about! Two nights ago there was a conversation on there that I’d had with an old college buddy of mine. We were at a restaurant. Luckily it was innocuous, but can’t you see what’s on everyone’s mind?”

“Well, sure. I figured a nice piece about the way things used to be-”

“It’s now! It’s in the moment! And this?” He held up the investigative piece. “This is all you’ve got?”

Damien fumbled his words. This investigative thing was harder than it looked. Lots of people wanted to talk, but it didn’t tend to be the people with helpful information.

Edgar leaned across his desk, the wood creaking underneath his heavy arms. “I’m desperate to keep this newspaper going. It’s been in my family for three generations, and it’s not going down on my watch. Do you understand me?”