Damn he was tired. Ryan looked out at the newsroom as people found their stations and set up to work.
Will Bristol was working on a follo’ story to the major headlines of last week. He pounded on his keyboard as if it were a manual typewriter — something he’d probably never used. Ryan glanced almost involuntarily at the blinking message light on his phone. He knew one of the messages was to call the Provost, the university’s number two man, immediately. He assumed it was about Will’s stories. He’d been ignoring it all day.
Emily was at her workstation. She’d claimed the computer in the front pod so she could face the newsrooms entrance and see who was coming in. She was a graceful, tall woman with short dark hair, who moved like she’d been a dancer when she was young. And for sheer stubbornness she had no equal. She had said wear a mask, and they wore masks. She said keep your distance, and they stood six feet apart.
She’d also said use spell check. That wasn’t going so well, but she was firm. Reporters would learn to use spell check.
Ryan grinned. He considered her one of his closest friends. They’d started at the newsroom at the same time — along with Cage Washington who was now the chief videographer — and they’d been through a lot together. He knew her quirks, the sound of her giggle, her whacky sense of humor. He relied on her unflappable ability to keep things together, and to get the news out — every day, every hour. But he knew nothing of her past, knew nothing of private life now. Hell, he hadn’t even gone to bed with her, and there weren’t many women on staff he could say that about.
He watched as Emily smiled in genuine welcome. Cage Washington wheeled Sarah King into the newsroom and up to her usual editing station. Cage, a tall, broad-shoulder Black man, covered the bulk of the Black Lives Matter protests, and he was dressed to go down there later: black cargo pants, black T-shirt, and a safety bag over one shoulder.
Right now, his camera bag was in Sarah King’s lap.
Sarah was new to the newsroom leadership. She’d applied to be a copyeditor a week ago, and now seemed indispensable. Well, when you had mostly newbie reporters, copyeditors were always indispensable. But Sarah was special. Somehow, she’d managed to save the life of their youngest staffer when he’d tried to commit suicide. Ryan felt like he owed her everything for that and always would. She had curly, almost frizzy light brownish-red hair worn shoulder length. She was a big woman who usually used crutches not the wheelchair she was seated in today. She’d been in the Army and injured in Afghanistan. And she had guts.
Cage saw Ryan looking out from his office, and cocked his head asking if everything was OK. Ryan waved him off and returned to his desk. Time to return that call, he thought. He punched in the code to his messages. You have 34 messages, the voice said. Your inbox is full. He sighed.
“We’re back to normal,” Emily said. “Bad copy and more bad copy.”
Sarah groaned theatrically. “You said it would get better!”
“It’s not Thanksgiving yet,” Emily replied.
Cage laughed at them both. He sat down at his workstation, the third in Emily’s pod. Will was at the fourth ignoring them all as he wrote furiously. Cage called up a queue of available video.
“We need a meeting to talk about what leads with Ben?” he asked, referring to Ben Waters who was this year’s station manager. He produced the 10 p.m. nightly news show that was the hub of the newsroom’s media.
“It’s Tuesday,” Emily said, focused on some story she was reading. “We have to wait for Lam.”
Cage nodded. Lam Deng was the editor of Folio which came out on Thursdays. His production cycle was just beginning to gear up for that. Most of what they produced went online on the Eyewitness News website. He took a look at it to see what he’d missed since last night.
Emily heard the elevator door sound. She looked up to see a young Latina approach the counter carrying a 3-year-old boy. Emily thought the boy might be the cutest little kid she’d ever seen. Brown wispy hair, big brown eyes, long eyelashes. She was so enamored with the boy it took a moment before she recognized the woman holding him.
“Teresa?” Emily exclaimed, giving it the Spanish pronunciation. “Teresa Valdez?”
She approached the counter to open the gate. “It’s so good to see you!”
Teresa was shorter than Emily, a bit curvier. Her brown hair was pulled smoothly back and clasped at the back of her neck. She used to wear it loose, Emily remembered, it had been longer and fuller. She had had beautiful hair. Now, she looked older, less carefree. “It’s good to see you, too,” she said. But she sounded tired. “Is Ryan here?”
“Yes, he is. He’s the Editor-in-Chief now, did you know?” Emily said, opening the gate for her to come in. “He’s in his office.”
“He is doing well?” Teresa asked, hanging back.
“Yes. He’s cleaned up his act, Teresa, you’ll see. It is so good you’re here!” she said.
“Good, that is good,” Teresa said with more relief than seemed necessary to Emily. She frowned, looking at an old friend who had disappeared from her life without warning. She looked at the boy, and guessed he was the reason.
