Page 81 of Dear Henry, Love Edith
It was ringing a bell. So were the people at the front door.
“He wants to start a halfway house here?”
“He’s the one behind that giant grant I applied for. Remember? I must’ve told you a dozen times.” She huffed out a frustrated sigh. “Just get down here. He’s on his way now.”
“O-okay.” Henry heard foot traffic in the front entryway along with a cacophony of voices. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Now, Henry. He’s not the type of man you keep waiting. Oh, and, Henry?”
“Yeah?”
“No pressure or anything, but for the love of all that’s holy, don’t screw this one up.”
Peg disconnected the call just as Edith flung herself around the corner, barreling into Henry’s chest with eyes full of panic.
“It’s a news station from the Quad Cities. They said Sharon promised them an interview. Did you hear me? They want to interview us. Live. Now. What do we do?”
Henry shrugged and rubbed his hand along his neck. “Tell them we can’t. Or at least I can’t. I have to get down to the office.”
“What? Now? Are you kidding me?”
“Sorry to intrude.” A young woman with a short blonde bob and a megawatt smile that said she was anything but sorry stepped into the kitchen. “But we should get youonto the couch and ready. I think the lighting will work best there.” Raising two perfectly groomed eyebrows when nobody moved, she said, “I’m sorry. Is there a problem? I’m Emily Goodbar, reporter for KWQP TV8 news.”
“I know who you are.” Henry cleared his throat. “And yes, there is a problem. Neither of us agreed to an interview. And even if we had, now is not a good time.”
“Oh, I see. Perhaps if we added a little makeup, you might feel more comfortable.”
“Huh?”
“Your eye. It is rather disconcerting, isn’t it? All that swelling and bruising. How about if we—?”
“The problem isn’t my eye. The problem is I need to go.”
“Emily, we’re gonna be on in five minutes,” a voice shouted from the living room.
“I’m aware,” Emily replied tersely, glancing at her watch. “Look, we’ll keep it short and sweet. We’ll be done and out of here in no time.”
“I already told you we are not doing an interview. Not now, not ever.” That might not have been what he said before, but this lady was starting to annoy him.
“Henry.” Edith ran a palm up and down his arm, ever the peacemaker. “You might be able to do an interview at some point, right? Maybe in the afternoon?” Edith flashed a placating smile toward Henry followed by an apologetic one to the reporter. “How about if you came back later? Maybe tomorrow. Would that work?”
“I’m not sure you guys really understand the concept of how alivestory works.”
“Edith, I’m sorry.” Henry unlocked the iron grip she had clamped on his wrist. “But I really do have to leave.”
“You know what?” The reporter waved Henry away. “It’s fine.” She turned the full force of her smile toward Edith, appearing much like a crocodile facing a live chicken, and grabbed on to her arms. “We’ll just do the interview with you.”
Edith backed into the refrigerator. “What? No. I can’t. I’ll start sneezing and—”
“Two minutes!” the cameraman shouted.
“Coming,” Emily responded.
“Henry,” Edith pleaded.
“I’m sorry.” Henry watched Emily drag Edith around the corner into the living room.
He should stay. Edith needed him.
