Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
Lizzie opens her laptop and her notebook. Sitting at her teenage desk, she squirms in the uncomfortable straight back chair. Why did she never ask her parents for a more comfortable chair when she was a kid, she wonders.
Looking at her notes from the bookstore she keeps feeling distracted by thoughts of Jack. “No, no, no, no,” she says out loud to no one but herself. As a way to procrastinate she opens the desk drawer and finds a treasure trove of photos, tickets, cards, notes, and other memorabilia that Marie Kondo would immediately have her edit. She kept things. Concert and movie ticket stubs, shells found on walks, and a million other things. She couldn’t think of one thing she had in Boston to remember her time with Ed, yet here was a history of her life laid bare in a drawer. Was it that there were too many things to keep track of now, or that there were too few?
She slams the drawer shut and starts typing:
“Something new to the festival this year, courtesy of Anika and Jay Patel of Tall Tale books, is a chance for children to attend their first Story Slam. Storytellers from Seaward Regional Middle School will be telling their real-life tales of Christmas surprises to younger children who will most certainly have fun hearing stories from these older kids....”
Grabbing quotes from her chat with Anika, and filling in with some color, describing the cozy store and a little information on the Patels, she’s done with that one in about 45 minutes. Since she’d been writing more news stories on tight deadlines she’d gotten faster.
“Hey, we’re heading out!” She hears Matt call from downstairs. She gets up and runs down the stairs to say goodbye.
“Bye, Aunt Wiz!” she stoops down to give Sophie a hug.
“Night, Sophie-bug!” she says.
“I’m not a bug!” she laughs.
“Fine, night Sophie-cat,”
“I’m not a-”
Matt scoops her up, “Okay, this could go on for an hour,” he kisses Lizzie on the cheek, “‘Night, I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Shannon is right behind them carrying the basket of reindeer. “We got them all done! I don’t know what I’d do without this family, thank you for your help,” she gives Lizzie a one-armed hug.
“I loved it, I haven’t used a glue gun in years, I had a lot of fun. See you soon, I’m sure!”
They all leave, Lizzie looks around.
“He left about a half-hour ago,” says Peter, scooping some frozen yogurt into a bowl. “After you left there wasn’t much holding him here,” he smiles. “How you doing up there?” He sits down with his treat. “Oh! I should have asked! Do you want some?” She shakes her head, no.
“I got the bookstore story done, and I’ll whip out the interview with Leah Alden when I go back up.” She sits down next to her Dad. “Did you get to see Stan?”
“Yeah, briefly, he’s doing okay. It’s going to take some time to heal.” He puts his spoon down. “Having him out it’s really making me think a lot about what to do with the paper. It’s been crazy enough trying to do it with the two of us, but with just one person, it’s not really workable. I may be having to think about some changes after the first of the year. I have always vowed I’d never sell to the corporate folks, but I may not have a choice,” he says, looking so sad it breaks Lizzie’s heart. “Money-wise, it’s getting near impossible.”
She hates seeing her dad like this. She knows he probably goes through this tug-of-war in his head often, but she’s only rarely been privy to it. “Now isn’t the time to make any big decisions, Dad. Wait until you know more about Stan, till after the holidays…you’ve got me for the next couple of weeks, and I can even help and do some pieces long-distance when I go back to Boston. There are always solutions, isn’t that what you always told me?”
“I hate it when my parental words come back to haunt me,” he laughs. “Okay, you’re right. I won’t decide anything right now. Other than, I'm deciding to have a second bowl of this frozen yogurt. Don’t tell your Mom though.”
She stands to go back upstairs. “My lips are sealed. I promise.” She stops at the bottom of the stairs. “Dad?”
“Yes?”
“You also always told me you never know what unexpected thing might show up to turn everything around. Don’t forget that.”
“Boy, I really was full of advice, wasn’t I? What a pain! I’m so sorry!”
She laughs. “Hardly, your words have gotten me through many tough times.”
Peter smiles, “That’s really nice to hear. I’m glad I did something right.”
“You did a lot of things right. Oh! And don’t let me forget that I want to run some ideas for a future story about what Leah and some of her friends are working on to make the town greener–in an environmental way, not more shrubs,” she laughs.
“I’d love that, thanks honey. It’s nice to have your enthusiasm around here, I could really use it.”
Lizzie runs up the stairs back to her childhood room to begin her next story, and tries to not think about how to save the family business. She has always sworn she would not let herself get pulled into saving the Gazette. It was never her passion, she wanted more. But now she’s finding herself wondering what that even means.
The story about the more environmentally friendly Christmas festival was a cinch to write. She had great quotes from Leah, and she was excited about it, something that felt a bit foreign to her. She couldn’t remember the last time she wrote something she truly cared about. Since Greylock Media had taken over the Sentinel, and hundreds of other local papers across the country, all that mattered was meeting the nightly deadline with as little fuss as possible. Less and less of features pages had anything to do with Boston. Writing something in real time that was happening and was not just fun but important felt so good.
In less than an hour she had that story done too, emailed to the Gazette, and was not ready to go to sleep. She was too wound up.
Instead of crawling into bed she finds herself opening that desk drawer and looking through those old photos again. She gathers them up, and brings them over to her bed where she sits cross-legged and starts going through them. There were several from prom she cringes looking at. Why had she ever decided that prom was the perfect time to dye her hair purple? She shakes her head and puts those aside. There were lots and lots of photos of her and Matt–on the beach, on their little Sunfish learning to sail, sitting at their Dad and Stan’s desks pretending to be working. There were also many just of the town, the beaches, the shops. She recalls having taken a bunch of these for a school project, “Know Your Town”, where she’d gone and talked to several business owners, Reverend Harold, who’d long-since retired, and members of the selectboard. Cranberry Harbor was such a beautiful and special place to have grown up. Maybe being away for some time had given her the distance she needed to appreciate it. She can’t stand the thought of everyone her age leaving, of it being stuck in some postcard version of itself with no real sustainable future. Suddenly, she gets up and grabs her laptop, brings it back to the bed and starts writing.
She hasn’t written anything personal in so long, and it feels good. She finds herself writing about the importance of having grown up in this town, how it has shaped who she became. She writes about community, about growing the town thoughtfully, being inclusive and welcoming, and leaning into a future that provides opportunities to young people - both those who’d grown up there, and new residents who want to create a future in Cranberry Harbor. She also touched on the fragile environment and how it’s not like other places, and climate change is already hitting it hard. The thoughts and words are coming faster than she can type.
Eight-hundred words later she sits back and wonders where that came from. Two days back in town and here she is, waxing poetic about the place she couldn’t run from fast enough. After a quick edit, and before she loses her nerve, she sends it to her Dad and wonders what prompted all that to tumble out. Whatever it was, she liked it. It felt good to voice an opinion. Especially about something that mattered so much to her.