Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
The short walk through the front doors of the Mile High Observer, past the front desk, and down the hall to Randall’s office usually takes less than thirty seconds and would never be worth a mention.
But Friday morning with Rufus in tow, this journey takes a full ten minutes, and the whole experience is like something out of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, with dog-obsessed eccentrics coming at me from all directions.
“Oh my goodness!” Tracy almost falls out of her seat at reception, somehow procuring dog treats out of thin air. “Who’s our new office pup?”
A guy I vaguely recognize from IT peeks his head around the corner and grins. “I didn’t know we had a new staff member. Can I say hi?”
“Of course,” I say through my teeth.
“This breed is so intelligent,” he says, letting the dog sniff him.
At that moment, Jana appears out of nowhere and immediately drops to her knees. “Caprice! He’s adorable—I’m so jealous!”
I inch down the hall amid a chorus of awwwws, getting peppered with questions about where Rufus came from and why he’s here. I’ve distilled the information to a sentence or two, but I didn’t factor in how much his orphan story would pull everyone’s dog-loving heartstrings.
“God, I’m sorry about your ex. But wow—you’re so lucky!” Jana says. “My sister had to take in our grandma’s cocker spaniel, and all he does is pee on the rug.”
I turn to look at her, kneeling on the floor with my sixty-pound beast. I consider pulling up pictures of my late couch while she makes heart eyes and strokes Rufus’s ears. But we’re only a few feet from Randall’s door.
“Um, Rufus has a meeting to get to, but if anyone wants to walk him at lunch, I’d be happy to let you draw straws.” I pull the dog into the office and shut the door like I’m hiding some tween heartthrob from his adoring fans.
“There’s the big fella!” Randall hops out of his chair and approaches Rufus with his palm extended.
I have to hand it to the dog. He hasn’t whined once since we got here and has been surprisingly chill amid all this attention.
Maybe he was used to meeting lots of people in new environments on deployments with Kyle.
My heart nose-dives at that thought, and I let go of the leash to sink into one of Randall’s chairs. Rufus starts up his sniff-every-corner-of-the-room thing, and once he’s satisfied with his inspection, Randall offers him a dog bed and something to chew.
“I emailed you the feature when I left home,” I say when my boss finally shifts out of dog mode and returns to his desk.
His eyes sparkle. “I finished it just before you walked in. Caprice, this is some of your finest work. The way you approached it from his wife’s perspective .
. .” He shakes his head, but his grin shines with approval.
“Though even I still can’t believe we’re talking about Colin freaking Vanderpool. ”
I bite my lip, leaning forward in my chair. “So . . . you want to publish it?”
His eyes flash to mine. “Is there any reason not to?”
“Only a couple dozen.” A nervous laugh escapes my lips.
My boss rests his elbows on his desk, taking me in. I styled my hair and dressed in something other than athleisure for the first time all week, but between writing this article and dealing with my new roommate the last few days, I feel like my edges are frayed.
“What are you most worried about?” he asks. “By the way, I’ve already submitted your raise to HR. The Vanderpools are well known, even outside of Denver. I wouldn’t be surprised if this went a little viral.”
The tightness in my chest eases a fraction at the thought of the boost in income. But when I look at him, it’s hard to swallow. “What am I always worried about, Randall?”
He has the humility to look chastened.
My boss and I have had numerous conversations about safety over the last few years.
He knows about almost every threat and slur I received after the first Unmatched article, and he’s been nothing but supportive and sympathetic.
He understands why I’m having reservations as much as a compassionate middle-aged white guy ever could.
“Vanderpool’s stature as a philanthropist and his political aspirations will make this hit on a whole different level than your other articles,” he says.
“Exactly,” I say in a shaky voice. “And if angering your average married cheaters earned me rape and death threats, what will happen when I piss off a powerful, influential one?”
Neither of us speaks for a minute. But then Randall folds his hands and looks right at me. “So you’re going to let that stop you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
He leans back in his chair. “Look, I’m not trying to minimize anything that’s been said or done to you. The comment sections, even on our own platform, are their own circle of hell. But maybe this is a good time to revisit why you got into journalism in the first place.”
I stare at him. He knows my answer. We’ve talked about it annually at my employee review for the last five years, but I decide to play along. “I want to tell people’s stories.”
“Okay. So you’re telling Colin Vanderpool’s story?”
“What? No.” Rufus stops chewing and looks up when I raise my voice. “Did you even read my article? I’ve never spoken to Colin Vanderpool. This piece is about his wife. And the thousands of other women affected by the Unmatched app.”
Randall looks back at me with a slow smile.
“Her story is important. We both know that,” he goes on. “But if you don’t tell it, someone else will. And they’ll most certainly make it about him.”
I hold his gaze for another moment, then let out a low breath. Because he’s right.
“And it isn’t just this story.” His voice grows gentler. “I’m thinking about your career, Caprice. I know what happened last year was scary. But this is your chance to prove you’re not going to let anyone bully you out of a profession where you’re destined for stardom.”
My chest fills at his words. But my gaze drops to my lap. “What if I’m scared?”
He doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he calls the dog. Rufus jumps right up and eagerly follows directions as Randall runs him through random commands. He tells him to sit, stay, and roll over, getting on the floor with him to play and rub his belly while I pull dog hairs off my slacks.
“God, this guy is smart,” my boss says.
“He likes you,” I mutter. “Maybe your dog needs a brother.”
He chuckles. “My daughter’s allergic, or I’d take him in a heartbeat.” He glances up at me. “You’re not really a dog person, are you?”
Before I can answer, someone knocks on the door, then opens it without waiting for an answer. Rufus goes from upside down on the floor wagging his tail to charging across the room, snarling and gnashing his teeth, in a split second.
“Jesus!” Brian sees him and retreats so fast he forgets to look superior, slamming the door between him and the dog just as Rufus launches for his neck. “Goddamn, Caprice,” he shouts through the wood. “I’m reporting this to HR!”
Rufus stands growling and barking at the door until Brian apparently goes away. Then he comes over to where I’ve drawn my body into a tight, tense ball in my chair, and licks my hand.
Randall busts out laughing.
“Well done, Rufus.” He claps his hands, then looks at me. “Maybe your new companion can help keep the bad guys at bay.”
I stare at the dog, who stares back with those golden eyes, and a surprisingly loyal expression. “You sound like my brother,” I mumble.
Only Theo would definitely not approve of me publishing this article. He’s team barista all the way.
The thing is, I made my decision before I even walked in here. And the damn dog had zero to do with it. I uncurl myself from the chair, inserting my feet back into my heels. “I think we both know safety is never a guarantee.” I sigh. “But I guess I don’t mind some added protection.”
“So I can print it?” Randall clarifies.
“You know I’m not going to just sit back and watch someone else break my story.”
My boss’s whole demeanor shifts. He doesn’t fist-pump, but his bushy eyebrows basically do.
“All right. It’ll go out online and in the print edition next week,” he says, opening his laptop.
“I can’t lie, I’m happy the Observer will get to drop this.
But I want you to tell me immediately if any issues arise. ”
“Will do,” I mutter. “And . . . thanks for the raise.”
“You deserve it.” He straightens in his chair, the glimmer returning to his eye. “And it’ll put you in a better position to negotiate your salary elsewhere.”
I roll my eyes, feeling certain of nothing except the need to see this through. For Mimi Vanderpool, for Lydia . . . and maybe for myself.
“Whatever. See if HR will accommodate my ‘support animal.’” I sigh. “And tell Brian he might want to keep some Milk-Bones in his pockets from now on.”
“You’ve got it,” Randall says, smirking.
“And can someone else take the assignment desk now?”
He narrows his eyes. “Tell you what—let’s wait till this drops on Wednesday. Then I’ll hand it to Jana.”
“Deal.”
I rise from my chair and pick up Rufus’s leash, bracing myself to face the throngs of his new fan club. If I can just make it to my desk and start sifting through complaints in the inbox, I’ll have less space to wonder if I’ve just made a huge mistake.
“Oh, I have one other assignment for you,” Randall says as I reach the door. “We were asked to cover an event in Castle Rock this weekend. Might be a good palate cleanser after the Vanderpool thing.”
I look back at him with a raised brow. “That sounds more enticing than it probably is.”
He shrugs. “There are a couple of doctors handing out a new scholarship in memory of their son. Seemed like a decent feel-good story.”
Something about this pings in my gut. Probably because I know a couple of doctors from Castle Rock who lost a son. “What, ah . . . what’s the name of the family?”
Randall checks his computer and looks up at me. “Forbes?”
My stomach knots. And now I’m right back to believing the planets have aligned to ensure my demise.
I wouldn’t be surprised if I walked outside and got hit by a meteorite.
But even as these thoughts swirl through my mind, I hear myself say, “Sure, a scholarship. I’ll cover it. That’s definitely not sex or dating.”
When I return to my desk after a detour outside for Rufus to pee, I open my browser in an effort to collect myself. Or at least figure out what I’m doing. But when I find the event I committed to covering this weekend, the world seems to shrink.
Saturday, March 21st - Castle Rock High School:
First Annual Kyle Forbes Scholarship Award Ceremony
Suddenly, I’m sitting here at my desk a year ago, combing the internet for topics to write about when I stumbled on a social media post from a high school friend that rocked my foundation in three words: RIP, Kyle Forbes.
On some level, I’d probably seen it coming.
Only it felt like a sneak attack. Was this really how I would learn the man I’d been in love with since I was sixteen was dead?
But when I clicked with numb fingers, the internet confirmed the news.
Kyle had already been gone a week. I’d lived seven entire days on this earth without him, and I hadn’t even known.
Because no one had bothered to tell me.
Something lands on my thighs, jarring me into the present.
I look down to find the Kong toy in my lap and a pair of gold-colored eyes looking at me that seem to echo the emptiness in my heart.
He was there. He was with Kyle when he did it—he must have been.
And I’m furious he didn’t stop him. If this animal is as smart as everyone says, couldn’t he tell how bad it was?
He could’ve alerted someone. Done something.
Rufus rests his muzzle on my leg, and I’m about to shove him away when our eyes meet again, and I pause.
Because there’s something else I recognize that’s hard to describe.
We stare at each other for another moment.
And then, slowly, I place my hand on his head.
Run my fingers over the velvety fur on his ears.
Because maybe he’s also hurt. Maybe he misses Kyle as much as I do.