Page 7 of Hearts to Mend

“Sorry about the incident yesterday.” I glance up at my editor, Dan, who is standing at the corner of my desk, looking contrite and shaggy. The shaggy look is a constant—his tie permanently askew—but the contrition is new. “I want you to know you’re always welcome to keep your phone on in here. In fact, I encourage it.”

Oh, right. That.

He continues, “Sandra created the phones-off-during-meetings policy because we had this bleeping intern who never put her bleeping phone down.”

Dan has an impressionable four-year-old daughter and a swear jar at home, so he tends to bleep his way through conversations. I can empathize. Matty’s mind soaks up every word I say like a sponge, and he repeats it all. I’m still trying to get him to unlearn some of the language he heard from his mother.

“But of course, as a reporter, and a dad, you need your phone on. So consider this conversation your official exemption from the phones-off-during-meetings policy.”

I smile at the guy. He’s the nicest editor I’ve worked with so far. The editor of the paper I wrote for in the Army was a jackass, and the one at the weekly in San Antonio was a high-strung mess. Dan has a quiet demeanor, and he trusts his staff to be professional and get their jobs done without a lot of micromanaging. It’s a nice change of pace. “Thanks, Dan.”

“So, how is Matty?” he leans a hip against my desk, genuinely curious.

“You know kids—they have more resilience than we do. This morning, he couldn’t wait to get to school to show all his classmates his cast. And he was bouncing off the walls with excitement about their trip to the firehouse this afternoon. Apparently, Dee promised him he could play with the siren today.” I grimace at my casual mention of Dee. Since moving back, a lot of people have asked me if I’ve seen her, spoken to her. I’ve deflected as much as I can. But now that I’ve seen her, spoken to her, she’s on my mind constantly.

Dan says, “Speaking of… Rumor has it there were some fireworks at the hospital yesterday.”

I groan as I shake my head. “The gossip mill in this town is second to none.”

“Well, I am the editor of the bleeping paper. People think I need to know the things that go on around here.”

“This isn’t going into the paper, is it?”

“Of course not! This isn’t some bleeping gossip rag.”

“Right.”

“Still, I heard it was an interesting reunion.” Dan waggles his brows. This might not be a gossip rag, but Dan is still a gossip hound. Everyone here is.

“She’s not too happy to see me.” Understatement. She’d looked at me yesterday like she wanted to flay me alive.

Dan rolls his eyes. “If that’s what you think, then you aren’t paying attention. Better work on that. I need a reporter who can read people.”

I blink at him, a little stunned. But before I can truly comprehend what he’s said, he’s on to a new subject. “You’re out this afternoon, right?”

“Right. Accompanying Matty’s class on a field trip.”

“To the fire station?”

I nod.

He laughs. “Enjoy.”

* * *

Wrangling twenty-five first graders is no easy feat. Teachers deserve a lot more credit than they get…and better pay. I’m already exhausted, and we’re still on the bus, driving the few miles that separate the school from the fire station. Matty sits a couple of rows behind me, regaling his classmates with tales of riding in the fire engine they’re about to see.

And to think I was nervous about him making friends at his new school. I should have known better; Matty could charm the scales off a snake. His teachers have already pulled me aside to tell me how delightful he is and how well he’s doing in his classes.

Perhaps the mess with his mom hasn’t harmed him as much as I feared. Or if it has, then this move back home was the right decision. I’d hoped a little quality time with his abuela would help him focus, keep him on the straight and narrow. After all, Mom raised three sons and my brothers both turned out relatively well-adjusted. The jury’s still out on me.

But beyond the positive influence of his amazing grandma, this community is what Matty needed too. The comfort, kindness, and kinship of a small town is a relief after so much time lost in the maze of the big city, the courts, the system.

With a squeal of the bus’s air brakes, we come to a stop at the curb in front of the fire station. Matty’s teacher, Miss Anne, stands. With great flourish in her voice, she instructs, “All right, children, it’s time to play the quiet game as we get off the bus. Let’s all zip our lips.”

She pantomimes closing a zipper on her mouth in an exaggerated gesture. All the kids on the bus mimic her like little ducklings and fall silent.

Damn. I need to remember that trick on noisy nights at home.

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