this situation go away, the sooner you can get back to normal.”
Normal, Rebecca thought. What exactly is normal? Normal was living life as a single mom, watching her children grow up without a father, relying on Jack to do all the things that Ian should be doing: teaching the girls to ride a bike, building them a tree house, going to ballet recitals. It wasn’t fair to expect Jack to do this forever. She should be able to manage alone by now. After all, eighteen months had passed already.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I guess we both want to get back to normal. You can get on with your life again.”
He looked a little taken aback. “I am getting on with my life. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re a burden.”
She inhaled deeply and thought of all the words she wanted to say to him, but none of them would come. “We’ll talk about it later, Jack,” she said, opening her car door and stepping out onto the pavement. “We need to have a conversation that is long overdue.”
She saw a look of confusion fall over his face as he exited the car and came to stand next to her. “What are you talking about, Bec? I thought we were doing fine.”
“That’s just the problem, Jack,” she said, turning to walk up the steps to the revolving door of the Liberty News. “There is no we.”
* * *
Jack took the steps two at a time to catch up to Rebecca, who had stridden ahead of him without warning. Whatever she had just alluded to had unsettled him. He had a worrying suspicion that she wanted him to back out of her life, and this thought sent a cold sensation of anxiety through his body. Yet he couldn’t profess to be wholly surprised. A beautiful woman like Rebecca deserved to meet someone special and be cherished again. She had probably realized that she would never meet such a person while he was on the scene, scaring off any potential suitors.
He saw her disappear through the revolving door and waited for the next wing to turn before darting into the space and finding himself in the large foyer of the building. The temperature inside was the perfect relief from the chilly February day, and the air smelled fresh and clean. Numerous framed newspaper stories adorned the walls, showing the history of the paper through the years, with many of the photographs having been taken by Rebecca.
“Rebecca,” a voice echoed across the foyer. “What are you doing here today? Our receptionist told me you’d called to request the day off.”
Jack looked over to see Rebecca’s editor, Simon Orwell, rush to her and envelop her in a hug. Jack’s skin prickled with something he couldn’t put his finger on.
“She also told me about your burglary,” Simon said. “How awful for you.”
“I won’t be here long,” Rebecca replied. “If it’s okay with you.”
“Of course it is,” he said. “Take as much time off as you need.”
Simon’s eyes slid from Rebecca’s and caught sight of Jack behind her. His manner instantly changed to one of brusque formality. He straightened out his yellow suit jacket and adjusted his electric blue shirt collar beneath. He was known for his snappy, if unconventional, dress sense and was thought of as an eccentric media mogul in Florida, where he owned several regional newspapers, many of them sharing the same office space as the Liberty News.
“Conrad,” Simon exclaimed. “So good to see you. Long time no see.”
Jack approached Simon and extended his hand. Simon was one of very few people who used Jack’s first name, and it emphasized the distance between them. They had met many times but had never gotten to know each other well, keeping their conversations usually limited to the best way to avoid traffic gridlock in the morning. That was as personal as either of them wanted to get.
Jack shook Simon’s hand firmly. “I don’t suppose you happened to notice who parked my yellow Porsche in the Liberty News’s lot this morning?” he asked, trying to keep his tone as light as possible. “I took it to be cleaned, and the company must’ve dropped it here instead of the parking lot in the center of town like I asked.” He rolled his eyes. “They get it wrong all the time. I just wondered if you’d seen which attendant left it here.”
“Sorry, no,” Simon said, releasing his hand. “But you’re welcome to use our telephone to call them and check.”
Jack held up his hand. “No, thanks. It’s not a big deal.”
He caught Rebecca’s eye and gave a small shake of the head, letting her know that he didn’t want to divulge any information to Simon. Simon’s natural nosiness was not what they needed right now. If he sniffed a story, he’d be all over it like a bad rash.
“I’ve come to get something from my desk,” Rebecca said, keeping her voice light, as Jack had. “I left it here yesterday, and I need it for the weekend.”
Simon put his arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the elevator. “I’ll walk with you. I meant it when I said to take as much time off as you need before returning to work. Burglaries can leave a person with a lot of mental stress, so don’t worry if you need some downtime.” He guided her into the open elevator. “After all, I need my star photographer to stay happy and healthy.”
Jack kept his eyes on Simon’s hand resting on Rebecca’s shoulder as the elevator glided up to the eighth floor. He wanted to lift Simon’s fingers from Rebecca’s person. Simon was always very friendly with Rebecca, and it bothered Jack greatly, but he knew he had no right to feel that way.
The elevator doors opened out directly into the large newsroom, where there was a buzz of activity. It was open and airy, with telephones ringing and staff calling to one another across the room.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Simon said, removing his arm from around Rebecca and heading for his enclosed office at the far end. “Just holler if you need anything.”
Jack watched Simon striding confidently away, displaying an air of authority that let everybody in the newsroom know who was in charge. Despite being only a little more than five feet five inches in height, he carried himself with the commanding presence of a much taller man. The wide shoulder pads on his expertly tailored suits helped.
Jack noticed that Rebecca had left his side and gone to sit at her desk by the window. He went to join her, realizing that he had never actually seen her place of work before. Her sunny desk was neatly laid out with photographs for local stories: a beauty pageant, a veterans’ parade, a new statue being unveiled. Next to her computer was a framed photograph of her and Ian, each holding one of their daughters, waving at the camera. He looked away, feeling sadness creep into his heart. He felt as though he were invading her private space.
She opened the drawer of her desk with a key from her purse and gave a small gasp. “They’re gone,” she said, searching through a pile of papers inside. “They were right here on top. I remember putting them there yesterday after I spoke to the auction house.”
Across the newsroom, Jack saw Simon talking on the phone, lowering the blinds in his office. It made him feel uneasy.
He squatted down beside her chair. “Does anyone else have a key to your desk?”
“Simon has a master key for all the desks,” she said. “But to my knowledge, he’s never used it.”
“Were
