Chapter 12
Olivia
Whenever I told people that I was a reporter, the first thing they’d ask me about was the craziest person I’d ever met.
I don’t like the word crazy to describe someone.
People aren’t crazy, life is—and sometimes life is too crazy to go through alone.
Every person has baggage in one way or another.
Whether they appear to be put together or falling apart, underneath it’s all the same.
We all have breaking points and sometimes they happen at multiple points in our lives.
When I think of my own breaking points, I think of the time I was fifteen and, in one short week, my best friend decided I wasn’t cool enough to sit with him anymore, Mom didn’t show up to parent-teacher night for the fourth year running, and my brother, Matty, joined the Navy and left me all alone.
It felt like the end of the world. There was another time, right after I graduated college, and Mom hosted a big party to celebrate.
The first thing she said during her speech was how proud she was that I had graduated with a degree in journalism; she followed that very sentence up by listing all her own accolades.
I’d cried in the bathroom for an hour. Then, there was a year ago, when my ex-girlfriend had come home one day and said she was no longer attracted to me—probably one of the cruelest things you can say to someone.
I was completely blindsided. Or, more recently, Mom dying.
Opening the door to our sheriff, who looked as though he himself might cry, and hearing those words.
The first thing I thought was…finally. Yet what I have learned is that it’s often less about the breaking point, and more about what comes next.
The afternoon’s sky swirled with dark, angry clouds, crawling closer to town as the day dragged on.
The storm cast a dull gray light throughout the station, although you could spot our weather reporters from a mile off—storms gave them a bounce in their step.
I stared absently out the window at the brewing chaos while my computer screen glared back at me, my eyes burning from hours of fact-checking for various potential stories across the state.
Josh appeared at my desk and handed me a candy bar, fudge brownie flavor. He knew me so well.
“I hope the sugar in this replaces my brain cells,” I said.
He grinned, running a hand through his curly chestnut hair. “Well, I did try to suggest you for mentoring some of the interns today.”
I sat upright in my chair. “I totally would have done that—whose idea was it not to pick me?”
Josh blushed slightly and I sighed. He didn’t even have to say it.
“Colin.”
He nodded. “Sorry, Liv. I’m just the cameraman, he isn’t going to listen to anything I have to say.”
“I need to get back out there,” I said. “I am going to lose it behind this computer.”
“What about socials? That might be nice and cruisey?”
I scrunched up my nose. “Colin wouldn’t let me within an inch of the station’s social media accounts, let alone control them.”
Josh toyed with the stapler on my desk. “Have you checked that source for Cassie yet?”
I grimaced and said, “No,” before letting out a dramatic sigh. “Do you have any idea how hard it is, to watch her prance around here, acting like she’s already got the promotion?”
“Well, she has to actually deliver the scoop of the year to secure that job. I don’t think stories about potential measles outbreaks will do that.”
“Obviously!” I replied. “But she’s just so infuriating!”
Josh gave me an exasperated look. “Why’d you have to throw shit, Liv?”
“You don’t think I ask myself that every day?”
He stood to leave. “Just hang in there, Liv. Sometimes a great story is just around the corner.”
“We’ll see,” I said. I unwrapped the candy bar and shoved half of it in my mouth.
The hour crawled by, and I absentmindedly emptied staples one by one onto the desk; they lay scattered like broken stitches.
My phone buzzed with a text from Wren.
Still on for dinner?
I suddenly felt warm, and I texted back.
Of course! Sorry about this brewing storm :(
I love the rain! See you soon :)
I smiled to myself, pushing Wren’s text to the back of my mind—something and someone to look forward to—as I turned to Cassie’s story.
The source, Claudia, claimed her child had contracted measles at St. Christopher’s, a private school where she insisted an outbreak was being covered up by the principal, who vehemently denied it.
But we hadn’t verified her story or tracked down any other cases, and Claudia’s recent dismissal from the PTA only made the whole thing more suspicious.
I had a name and a phone number, so I dialed.
The line rang for a few moments before a woman answered.
“Hello?”
“Is this Claudia?” I asked.
“Yes, who’s calling?”
“Claudia, this is Olivia Piroso from High Country Broadcasting. I’m calling regarding the measles outbreak at St. Christopher’s. Do you have a moment to answer a few questions?”
“Oh, I sure do!” she said, her tone suddenly perking up. “The principal has kept the doors open, putting every single student at risk!”
“I see,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “The thing is, Claudia, none of the other parents have confirmed there’s been a measles outbreak. So, we’re trying to corroborate your story.”
“It’s definitely the measles! My son had spots!” she replied indignantly.
“Any other symptoms?” I asked, scribbling on my notepad.
“He was irritable.”
“Okay. And when did this all begin?”
“It started after we went to the lake,” she said quickly, her voice sharpening. “Will this be on the news? Because that principal is absolutely incompetent, and I want everyone to know!”
“What was the name of the lake?”
“Silver Mist, up north,” she replied.
I frowned. Silver Mist Lake. I knew it well; I used to camp there with an ex and her family. The place was infamous for its high concentration of mosquitoes.
“Claudia, is there a chance it isn’t the measles?” I asked, leaning forward in my chair. “They might actually be mosquito bites.”
There was a long pause, followed by a sharp click as she ended the call.
I groaned, dropping the phone back onto the desk and crossing out my notes.
With a sigh, I scribbled “dead end” next to the story.
It was obvious, wasn’t it? There was no measles.
Just a parent with a bruised ego after being dismissed from the PTA, desperate to drag the principal’s reputation through the mud.
Cassie would not be pleased. In the same moment, I spotted Colin emerging from his office.
I decided to take the opportunity to corner him again.
“Boss, got a second?”
He looked like he was about to say no but instead he just raised his eyebrows at me.
“I see Cassie got the Serena Williams interview, so I was wondering…”
“No big interviews until you bring me a good story.”
“Yes, I’ve heard you on that loud and clear.”
“Then hear me again,” he said. “Bring me a good story. Find one and we can talk about it.”
“I have one!” I spluttered. “It’s about the grief group I’m in.”
Colin turned toward me, seemingly interested.
“Oh? Has the therapist crossed a line with one of the members?”
I thought about Max, and how professional and kind he was, and pushed down a flash of anger.
“No,” I replied flatly. “He would never do that.”
Colin looked disappointed.
“We’re organizing a poetry evening. As a group we have found that reading poetry has helped with managing our grief.”
Colin didn’t seem impressed in the slightest. I continued.
“So, we’re hosting an evening, and inviting the whole of Everston to hopefully encourage others to talk about their grief as well.”
He folded his arms. “I don’t know, Olivia. I mean, it might be a feel-good puff piece but not exactly the story I was looking for from you.”
“But isn’t the point of the news to share good stories as well?”
“Yes, like a golden retriever rescuing a three-year-old from a burning house,” he replied. “With a picture of a happy, smiling retriever, and the words ‘Dog Saves Three-Year-Old’ as the headline.”
“It would mean a lot to Henry,” I said. “It’s great press for the library…”
He sighed. “Henry is a good man. I’ll think about it, but in the meantime bring me something with juice.”
As I watched him walk away, I thought of my mother.
If she had been faced with the same dilemma, she would have thrown her friends under the bus and then reversed back over them just to save her job.
Every day, I tried to be the opposite of her, and yet I had this sinking feeling that I was still my mother’s daughter.
Cassie happened to be in the break room as I made my way over to the coffee machine.
“Would you like a coffee, Cassie?” I asked.
She sighed. “Oh, we’ve run out of oat milk,” she replied. “No good.”
I filled the pot with water. “That’s too bad,” I said, and didn’t do a very good job of hiding the sarcasm in my tone.
“Did you contact Claudia?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “A bust. Son had mosquito bites, not the measles.”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “I doubt I’ll be bothering with these mediocre stories for long,” she said, flipping her hair. “Not after my Aiden Callaway interview last week.”
I hated that attitude. It reminded me too much of my mother. Her career took off, and she stopped caring about the smaller stories. But those are just as important as the bigger ones.
“Aiden Callaway was incredible,” Cassie continued, gushing. “I mean, he’s gotta be the biggest name in country music right now. I swear he was totally into me. He kept smiling at me with that gorgeous face of his.”
I resisted telling Cassie that Aiden Callaway was just genuinely nice and she was nobody special.
“And,” she added, “we stayed at the Four Seasons! Must be doing something right!”
I almost dropped the mug. I didn’t realize the station was spending that much on assignment these days.