Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
FELICITY
I drive through a blur of tears, repeatedly looking in my rearview mirror. But I miss the moment when Fierce walks back into the house.
No, it’s time for me to step up and be the family leader they have asked me to be. What does he mean?
Waves of guilt for leaving Fierce to face his family’s wrath alone and grief at how things ended wash over me as I drive and drive. I wend my way back to The Human Being, parking out front and finding the place bustling on a Wednesday morning. As I stand in line at the counter, nothing sounds appetizing. Instead, I feel nauseous, like the world is suddenly tasteless, lifeless, meaningless.
Stacey’s eyes still contain the sadness I saw last time, though she works hard to smile and greet me. “Felicity, how was your vacation in Hollister?”
I work even harder to turn the edges of my mouth up and say, “Okay. A lot to process.”
“Did you get the story you wanted?”
I remain keenly aware of the line behind me, but Stacey seems oblivious. “Not exactly.”
I order a Mexican mocha and a croissant, hand her my debit card to pay, and pray the charge will go through. I’ve spent every last cent on this vacation to get a story I no longer know if I can write.
She returns my card, and I turn on my heel, hearing her holler after me, “Hey, wait, Felicity! Remember Jess, the true crime reporter who writes for the Chronicle? She just walked through the door. You two seriously need to catch up.”
A very pregnant, very blonde woman dressed to the nines eyes me curiously. She holds the arm of a gorgeous, dark-haired, bearded man. Her face looks confused, but she smiles.
“I also write for the Chronicle,” I clarify.
She nods business-like. “Let me order my drink, and then let’s chat.”
I don’t know if I can stand a conversation with anyone right now. But ten minutes later, we sit together at a table, her husband, Logan, a little distance away, reading in a chair. She explains he’s staying extra close these days because of her impending due date.
“You have a good man,” I squeak, trying to hold back tears.
“What’s wrong, Felicity?” To my surprise, reciprocal tears flood Jess’s mint-colored eyes. “I’m sorry,” she adds. “Pregnancy hormones. I cry over everything these days.”
I don’t know if it’s the newness of what happened or the tears in Jess’s eyes, but I do something highly uncharacteristic outside of friends like Callie. I tell her everything that happened with Fierce and me. The first time I mention him and the Amestoys, her eyes round, and she sits up straighter, looking slightly uncomfortable. By the end, her face appears shell-shocked, mirroring my inner turmoil.
She shakes her head, retrieving more tissues from her purse and offering them to me before grabbing a couple more for herself. We both have scrunched up piles in front of us.
Inhaling sharply, she says. “So, first off, I should disclose that the family I’m married into are bitter rivals of the Amestoys.” She motions Logan over, confirming, “The Amestoys?”
He shakes his head, his eyes darkening. “What about them? I can’t stand those guys.”
“See,” Jess says with a frown.
Logan frowns, too. “They have a longstanding grazing rights issue with my family, and it’s gotten violent a couple of times. Although it’s usually Fierce and Christian who fight it out. Christian’s, my older brother, and the sheriff of Gold County, by the way.”
“Thank you, baby,” Jess says matter-of-factly, dismissing the burly man to his reading chair. She whispers, “Now that that’s out of the way, I’m so sorry. What a mess!” She reaches across the table, taking my hand.
“It’s my fault. Everything was fine with his family until I showed up.”
She cocks her head in thought. “No, it wasn’t alright if they were trying to control him that way. If they’re still trying to control him that way. How awful!”
I nod sadly. “I feel terrible leaving Fierce to deal with their wrath alone. But he didn’t give me a choice.”
“Family,” she exclaims bitterly. “As a little self-disclosure, I’m from an alcoholic family. We’re talking lots of daily drama and yelling. Unceasing yelling, really. Abuse, toxicity, all of it. Of course, Fierce wanted to shield you from that because he loves you. I would do the same.”
“But now he has to deal with them all alone.”
She nods. “And no one’s better suited than him for the task. Fierce is a tough guy. Again, I don’t have the most favorable impression of him, but he can handle this. I’m certain of it. But as for you, what are you going to do about your article? When is it due again?”
“I meet with my editor again on Friday morning.” I shake my head. “So, if I drive home today, that gives me all of Thursday to complete it.” Normally, that would be more than enough time, but my thoughts are swirling, and I don’t know where to begin. I press my fingers into my temples. “How will I get it written in time? How will I get my thoughts straight? All I know is that I can’t write what my editor wants.”
Jess’s eyes narrow. “Well, of course not. You have to write the truth, guided by your heart. Send me the article as soon as you’re done with it. Who’s your editor again?”
“McDuffey.”
She frowns. “Good luck with that asshole.”
“Have you ever worked with him?”
“Thankfully, no. But I’ve heard enough through the grapevine. I’ll see what I can do to pull a few strings over at the Chronicle.”
“Seriously?” I gasp, staring at her.
“Let’s just say I have some friends in high places.”
“Wow! I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much.” I stand, rounding the table to hug her.
“You’re welcome, and I hope it helps.” She retrieves a business card from her purse. “Call or text when you email me the article, and I’ll get right on it. Oh, and best of luck to you. You’ll need it with an Amestoy.”
I sit in my editor’s office on Friday morning, my head hung low.
“This is not what we discussed originally.” His voice slices open the silence.
“I know,” I say quietly, staring at my hands in my lap and sniffling.
“What happened to your hillbilly romcom?”
“Well, Sir, that’s not what I found in Rough & Ready Country. There were no redneck, country bumpkins. Just hardworking immigrants trying to forge a new life while holding onto time-honored traditions and languages. And a younger generation navigating the tension of family expectations and their own desires. It’s the story of all of us, Sir. Although most of us have been here so long, we no longer remember what we’ve lost.”
“Spoken like an anthropology major. This is what I get for taking a chance on you.”
“With all due respect, Sir. Several colleagues who write for the paper read it, and they agree it’s a fitting and well-written examination of immigration and multicultural romance. They also think it’s a surprisingly poignant end to the series. A breath of fresh air.”
“Fitting and poignant? A breath of fresh air? I don’t want fitting and poignant. I don’t want fresh fucking air. I want what we originally discussed, a lighthearted parody of rural America.”
“Well, I’m sorry I can’t deliver on that. But I hope you’ll reconsider publishing the article. It’s the culmination of painstaking, in-field research.”
McDuffey opens his mouth, but the phone rings, interrupting him. Picking up the receiver, he answers, “Yes?”
Silence follows as he listens intently, his face hardening and growing redder by the second. Finally, he holds the phone towards me saying, “My boss, Ms. Forsythe, would like a word with you.”
My heart races, and I’m unsure my legs will hold me when I stand. I lean against McDuffey’s desk, fielding the call. “Hello, Felicity James here.”
“I’ve got to hand it to you. Your final story for the relationship column wasn’t what I expected. But it was more heartfelt and moving than anything you’ve written in the series thus far. Not only have I advised McDuffey that it will go to press. But I’d like to offer you a permanent position with the Chronicle if you’re interested. You don’t have to decide immediately, but look for an email from HR outlining the full offer. I hope this is the beginning of a fruitful relationship. Kudos for following your journalistic instincts and not caving to editorial pressure. Now, if you wouldn’t mind putting McDuffey back on the phone, I’d like to continue my conversation with him.”
“Thank you so very much.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”