Page 30 of In This Moment

“I did and they are. My parents are in a suburb near Minneapolis. Dad’s folks are gone, but Mom’s live close to them. I have a few aunts and uncles on both sides, and a scattering of cousins.”

She smiled. “Big family. Bet holidays were fun.”

“Oh, yeah.” And loud. It dawned on him again she didn’t have any family left. He didn’t know what he’d do without his, even though he didn’t get to see them often. “Was it difficult for you moving so far away from your grandmother for school or work?”

“At first.” Her face scrunched in an adorable wishy-washy thought process he’d caught in a few instances before. “I always had chores and she taught me how to cook, so I was self-reliant, but the absence of her being in the next room was tough. I came home often as I could and we talked nearly every day by phone.” The edges of her eyes cast downward as her expression fell. “There’s been many times since she’s passed that I open my mouth to call for her, to ask a question, to tell her about my day, only to remember she’s gone.”

She offered an absent shake of her head, yet the anguish in her baby blues remained.

“I’m sorry.” And he was. Immensely. Sentiments and general condolence offers rarely made those left behind feel better, but he was at a loss for words on a proper reply. He could only generally sympathize with her situation, as he’d not lost anyone he loved that much, but he could imagine how he’d take the news if his parents died. Even then, he had other family to lighten the burden and grieve with him.

Maybe he and Rebecca were getting closer or a bond was forming after working side-by-side. There was no other explanation for the tightness in his windpipe or the absurd urge to hold her.

A delicate clearing of her throat, and she politely smiled. “What are your parents like?”

“Pretty awesome, actually.” Grateful for the topic change, he took a sip of his margarita. Damn, it was good. The right mix of tequila and sour lime. Most bars mucked it up. “Mom’s an estate attorney and Dad kind of does a bit of everything. He stayed home with me growing up, taking odd jobs here and there.”

“A jack of all trades.”

“Yes.” Thankfully, the light was back in her eyes. He took the win. “You got something broken, he can probably fix it. Or install it.”

She smiled around her straw as she took a sip. “Unusual for our generation to have the stereotypical gender role reversal. That’s awesome.”

“I never thought about it as a kid, but yeah. Mom worked, Dad stayed home, and that was my normal. He cooked, helped me with homework, threw the ball around in the yard, packed my lunches. They’re both immensely supportive.”

“That’s amazing.”

It was, and something he’d not take for granted again. He couldn’t fathom what it was like for her, having her folks taken from her, and at an age when she was old enough to realize what was gone.

“I bet they’re very proud of you.”

They were, even if he wasn’t. “I think so.”

Maria dropped off their meals, and neither wasted any time digging in.

They ate in silence for a short while, a comfortable one. Most people felt the need to fill quiet with inane chatter or mundane conversation. Not Rebecca. She seemed to appreciate the solitude when it came instead of being awkward. And when they did talk, if not about the Gazette, they had interesting discussions or debates.

She speared a bite of her salad, pointing the fork at him. “What made you move all the way down here if your family is up there? I know you’re college buddies with Forest, but still.”

How about that? He almost lost his appetite. Her inquiry wasn’t meant to be intrusive. Even if he didn’t know her well yet, it was a common question.

Forcing himself to swallow, he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Long story.”

Her brows shot up, but she remained mute.

Sighing, he stared at his plate, contemplating. If she dug deep enough on Google, she might find out anyway. He just hadn’t talked about it with many people. The short version with his family, a slightly longer one with Forest, glossing over it with Gunner Davis during the hiring process. Buying time, he took another sip of margarita.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s okay.” He raised his palm. “It’s not my proudest moment.” It had all but killed his career, in fact. Where to start, though? Backstory would help her relate. “Since I was a kid, I’ve wanted to be a journalist. I watched the news with my mom, and I’d think to myself, that’s what I want to do when I grow up. I’d get to be with people, travel, and write about interesting things. But I never saw a lot of personal stories in the news, or when I did, they were brief and only in relation to a catastrophic event. Earthquakes, tornados, fires, war, and all I wanted to learn about was the people it affected.”

She smiled, and something in her expression made him realize she understood, even before she tried to comment. “Like interviewing Edgar Allen Poe, but instead of asking about his literary works, you delve into his military or love life to see when and how he became so macabre.”

“Yes! Exactly.” She did get it.

“Sounds like you’re a biography nut. More how and less why.”

“Yeah.” No truer words. “Anyway, in college, professors helped me hone my craft, and I developed a niche for really getting to the heart of a matter. Afterward, I was hired as one of the lead columnists at a newspaper. Unfortunately, due to my skill set, I wound up writing mostly political commentary. Not what I wanted, yet I could dredge secrets, and find a spin on a situation most couldn’t. I often did the best I could to steer toward topics that dealt with the community in interviews and ask the questions common reporters missed.”

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