twenty-two, a good-looking kid with short black hair, sharp features, and an air of wonder about him. He was following Wallace’s lead like a child experiencing a museum for the first time.
A new reporter. I smiled. The day Wallace had shown me the ropes didn’t feel that long ago.
Wallace was not introducing the new guy to anyone.
That would come later.
Then Wallace took a detour and stopped by my desk.
The new guy’s cheeks were red, embarrassed, and he had trouble making eye contact.
“Henry,” Wallace said. “This is Nicholas Barr. He’s fresh out of J-school.”
“Nice to meet you, Nicholas,” I said, offering my hand.
“Yeah, nice to meet me, too. You. I mean meet you.
Me, nice to meet you.”
“Easy there, Nicholas,” I said.
“You can call me Nick,” he said, his voice shaking. “Or
Nicholas. Nicky. Whatever you want.”
“Nick it is.”
“That’s cool,” he stammered. “I mean, okay.”
“We’ll catch up later, Parker,” Wallace said, and I felt the veteran editor’s hand on my shoulder. Wallace would miss Jack as much as I would. It’d be good to tell stories of the old man. “Maybe you’ll show this new kid the ropes sometime.”
“You got it.”
And then, when Wallace and Nick Barr had left my desk, I heard the young reporter whisper enthusiastically to Wallace, “Dude, that was Henry Parker.”
“He’s a great reporter,” Wallace said. “And actually, I think the two of you will get along quite well.”
“Unreal,” Barr said. “This whole place. Unreal.”
I smiled, thinking about several years ago, my first day at the Gazette, when I swiped Jack O’Donnell’s coat with my hand just to see if it was real. I remembered the pride and disbelief in knowing I’d be working just mere feet from a living legend.
Unreal. It had all seemed unreal.
Then I looked at Nick Barr, standing where I’d been just a few short years ago, and knew that Jack might be living on through me.
