CHAPTER 27
Rebecca
Back at the office, Rebecca went straight to her laptop, typed in W Media and Erik Wennerman.
Nothing, though she made sure to google Erik himself, too.
He checked out okay, and she found a lot of information on several social media career profile sites, saw he had a bachelor’s in marketing and two graduate degrees, one in business advertising and another in geriatric care management.
His profile picture was a professional one, and he somehow managed to look both relaxed and natural in the pose. Trustworthy. The thought came that he’d make a good politician.
A search for news articles about him brought up a couple of features, the first on a local project he and some classmates had done in grad school and the second on his vision for Aberville Estates, the largest of the Wennerman retirement communities in the area.
She also found a few photos of some community and business awards he’d accepted on behalf of his father’s companies.
All of it was pretty vanilla, she had to admit.
No shady past, no bad business deals, no complaints or poor reviews.
No connection whatsoever to media buyouts.
Frowning, she did a search for the Lark Run Gazette, teamed that with terms like “lawsuit,” “nepotism,” “libel” and “sexual harassment.” Several articles, most by the daily paper in Charlotte, came up.
Erik had been telling the truth—that newspaper had been going under fast on its own accord.
She winced as she read how a string of young female reporters, just out of college, finally went in on a class action handled by a large firm.
The paper settled, and it seemed the sale to W Media was ultimately a win-win.
She cocked her head. She’d been too hard on Erik.
His hangdog look and patient way of explaining settled over her, balled like a lump in her stomach.
“What’s wrong?” Millie’s gruff voice startled her, and she sat upright. They were alone in the newsroom—Tiff was at a zoning meeting and Dinah out making sales rounds—and Rebecca glanced at the wall clock, surprised to see it was already after two. Soon she’d need to be leaving to go meet Devon.
“It’s nothing.”
Millie raised a brow. “Nothing my foot.”
Rebecca bit back a retort, then sighed. “I found out yesterday that the Wennermans, who’ve been running those huge ads in the paper for their retirement homes? They own a media company that buys small papers like ours all over this region.”
Millie pursed her lips. “Coulda told ya that ages ago.”
“You knew?”
“Thought you did, too. Thought that was why that Wennerman fellow’s been so friendly, coming in and making googly eyes at you.”
Rebecca rubbed at her temples. “It was a shock to me. And it seems Erik has nothing to do with his dad’s media arm, though I sure gave him an earful a couple hours ago at the coffee shop.
” She frowned, gave Millie a sideways look.
“You thought I was chumming up with the Wennermans about a paper sale?”
Millie shrugged. “The paper’s not doing well, that Wennerman fellow’s been comin’ round, and I put two and two together, jumped to conclusions. Figured you were ready to cast lots with the winning team.”
“Well, I had no idea. And besides, Erik told me his father and brother would likely be talking with Mr. McCafferty and Mr. Hansler, not me, anyway.”
“They may well be. And I suppose working for the Wennermans would be better than no job at all, but I don’t like it. Not one bit. There’s something sleazy about that family, I don’t care how you spin it.”
Rebecca’s mouth twisted. “I know what you mean.”
She watched Millie a moment. The secretary’s back was ramrod straight as she organized the papers on her desk. Rebecca glanced at the papers as she stood to pour another cup of coffee, saw they were classified orders.
“You’re doing well with the classifieds.” She tried to make her voice sound warm.
“Just doin’ my job.”
“No, really, Millie. You’re doing great. I appreciate it.” Rebecca took her seat again, sipped at the too-hot coffee.
Millie sniffed. “So’re you. I’m liking that James Watkins series.”
“Thanks.”
Millie opened her mouth like she was going to say something more, then seemed to think better of it. A minute passed, then another. Finally, Rebecca turned back to her laptop, and the research.
But when Rebecca left for her weekly Devon interview, Millie passed her a slip of folded pale-blue paper. Rebecca opened it in the car.
“I can do all things through him who strengthens me—Philippians 4:13,” Millie had written, then added, “You’re doing a good job.”
Rebecca kept the blue paper open on her passenger seat, read it again as she pulled up to the school.
Millie’s compliment surprised her; the woman hadn’t exactly been friendly with her, though they’d formed a loose bond in the couple months since Rebecca had come to Dahlia.
But like almost everything else she’d experienced since she’d moved here, Millie had a way of surprising her.
Deep down, she suspected her gruff demeanor hid a kind heart.
She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Devon walking toward her from the school, big blue backpack on.
He had on one of those thin nylon hoodies in spite of the heat, and he seemed extra pensive today—none of the lightness she saw last week was evident.
Her heart sagged. She couldn’t imagine what it might be like for him at home, whether he’d even had enough to eat today. She wished she could ask him.
Why not ask?
The thought caught her off-guard. Why not, indeed?
Out of fear of offending him, for one thing, though if he were truly hungry, she imagined being offended wouldn’t be an issue.
Or maybe out of a worry that she was being too pushy or nosy, or worse, judgmental.
The kid had enough problems without worrying whether his weekly diner pal thought he was a poster child for the needy.
But as Devon slid into the car, the words tumbled out. “You doing okay?” she asked, eyes soft.
“I’m fine.” He smiled at her, and she wasn’t entirely sure but thought it didn’t quite meet his eyes. In fact, his eyes looked sunken today, like he hadn’t slept a wink. But she shifted the car into gear, tossed him a smile, and headed for Harold’s.
At the diner, Rebecca made sure to order an extra burger—“just in case,” she told him—and some fried cheese sticks.
“You know,” the waitress, Louanne, said to her, one hip jutted out as she peered beneath her eyeglasses, “that story you did on the anniversary of the mill closing was real nice. And those kid stories, too—even though summer’s winding down, I hope you keep ’em going when school starts back.
They’re good. My Leroy says they’re his favorite part of the paper, and I don’t even argue. ”
“Thanks, Louanne.”
Louanne set down a basket of cornbread in front of them, along with a handful of those little packets of butter.
“They do this town some real good, you ask me,” Louanne said, then clicked her pen and winked at Devon. “Keep it up. I can see a nice change in the paper since you’ve been here.”
“She likes you,” Devon said behind a mouthful of cornbread after Louanne walked off.
Rebecca looked at him, surprised.
“What makes you say that?”
“Dunno. You can just tell.”
Their talk today was quieter, and she remembered Tamika right as Louanne delivered their food.
“Do you know I talked to a kid in your school yesterday who lives in a car? Actually lives in a car.”
Devon shrugged like Tamika had. “Yeah.”
“Isn’t anybody doing anything about this? Like, the teachers? The school staff?”
Devon gave her a look. “If they know about it, sure. But Miss Becca, most ’a the kids don’t want people to know they’re living in a car. That’s like asking to become a foster kid.”
“You know more than one kid who lives in a car?”
“I guess. A couple. Another girl in the grade below me, for sure.” He shrugged again. “They don’t live there all the time or anything.”
“That’s—” She shook her head. “I just can’t believe it.”
“I know a kid. He was in my class this year. Spent all of last summer living in a tent in those woods, out behind James Watkins?” He gestured in the general direction of the school, then dunked a fry in ketchup, gobbled it down and ate two more.
“Him and his whole family, too. Said it wasn’t so bad, except for it being hot.
And the mosquitos. Now they live near my house, in an apartment building.
It was better than being split up. Least that’s what he said. ”
Ideas were swirling: how maybe she could start a collection for Tamika’s family, possibly enough for first month’s rent on a house.
But then what? She didn’t know Tamika’s mom in the least. What if the woman was a loafer, who drifted by with no desire to work?
All that money would go down the drain. Or—what if she found the woman a job?
A good job, where she could earn enough to support herself and her kids?
“You wanna fix it, don’t you,” Devon said, gazed at her, a ketchup-coated fry in his hand. “That’s why you got so quiet.”
Rebecca blushed. Devon was proving to be a surprisingly good mind-reader. “Probably.” She switched gears. “You seem to know a lot of people, hear a lot of stories.”
“I like people.” He slurped at his milkshake, ate the fry.
“Why?” She didn’t dislike people. It was more that she appreciated her privacy, her solitude.
She imagined Devon was the kind of person who couldn’t stand in line at the grocery store without chatting with the person behind him.
She preferred to study the magazines and rows of candy and gum than make small talk with a stranger she’d never meet again.
“Dunno. It’s not their fault they got handed a whole bunch of trash. They’re dealing with it best they know how. That’s what Mama always said, anyway.”
“Your Mama was a wise woman.”