Page 25 of Meet Me in the Blue

“We’re lucky,” I said but didn’t believe it. “He’s had more time than we could have hoped for.” Time I’d squandered away. “But thank you. I’ll tell him you’ve been thinking about him.”

“And your mom.”

“Of course.”

After a few more long, awkward seconds, the doors opened. The respite was short lived, and once I was sitting across from him in his office, all my nervous energy came rushing back. I hadn’t stressed about a job like this since I’d interviewed for the magazine I used to work for in Portland.

Setting my portfolio on the desk in front of me, I cracked it open with trembling fingers. “This is only some of my work, I have a digital file I emailed you this morning and—”

“Luka…” He smiled and my gaze fixed on his mustache. Shit. He was going to tell me no. I recognized that placating tone. I’d heard it enough in Los Angeles. “Your work is… impeccable.”

But…

I waited for the inevitable,you’re not what we’re looking for, my knee bouncing incessantly without my permission.

“And I particularly love the work you’ve done outdoors. You really capture it. I can smell the pine of the trees, the fog over the city.”

“Uh… thank you, I—”

“The Harbor Heraldis the oldest publication in Hemlock Harbor,” he continued like I hadn’t spoken at all. He puffed out his chest and knocked his fist against the desktop. “Those people in Seattle think they have it all. They think they’re so hip… well…” he grumbled, running a palm down his sweater vest. “We don’t need that atThe Herald.Tradition has never let us down, and I think you—”

“Mr. Burgess,” I interjected with my widest smile. “If you could give me a chance… I have no desire to come in here and shake things up. I can do traditional. I love tradition.” I tapped my finger against the side of my portfolio. “If you flip to page five, you’ll see some of the photos I’ve taken of the town. I want to work with Zach because I love the way he captures small-town life in his articles. I’m not going to lie and say I knew anything about him before last week, but after researching, reading his columns… I want to be part of that, part of this town’s history too.”

In my own way.

My dad had his life, his legacy, and I wanted one of my own. Something we could both be proud of. Something I could give him before he died.

Mr. Burgess didn’t speak, flipping through my portfolio a page at a time.

“Zach Waskin’s column is known for its homage to small-town Americana, but what if we highlighted the locals more, not just the surrounding landscapes and shops. What if I worked with him, and each week he wrote a feature about one of the locals, telling the history of the townandits people. He’ll write it like no one else can and I’ll capture it forever on film.”

I sat up straight as he raised his cloudy gray eyes and scratched at his mustache. “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“I think it’s a damn good idea.”

“Really?” I didn’t even try to cover the squeak in my voice. “That’s… I—”

“And I think we should start with your dad.” He nodded his head, his focus on my pictures, nonchalant like he hadn’t just given me the fucking moon.

“My dad?”

“Yes.” Closing the portfolio, he said, “Everyone adores your father, and this would be a great way to introduce this idea to the town. They love Zach’s contributions to the paper, they look forward to all his insights and tidbits of history about this county and our modest city, but this… this is something more.”

Honoring my father this way, I didn’t think it would make me a better son, or take back all the time I’d wasted, but it would give me something that was just ours. A way to show how much he’d impacted my life, how much he’d done for everyone.

“More… not hip,” I said, and he chuckled.

“Exactly.”

“When do we start?”

“Today… if you can?” he asked, and I had to pinch myself to make sure I was awake.

“I’m definitely available.”

“Great.” He shoved himself to his feet, inhaling a lumbering breath. “I’ll show you to your office.”

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