At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories) - By Barbara Bretton Page 0,85

and that most of that is Ben's fault, but he's made such progress and he loves you so much. If you would consider it, I'd be in your debt forever."

"You don't have to be in my debt," she said. "Of course I'll be his witness."

Laquita leaped up and hugged Gracie around the neck. "This is wonderful! I'm so pleased."

"One question though," Gracie said. "Do you love him?"

Laquita stepped back and met her gaze head on. "Yes," she said. "I love him enough to be faithful."

"I didn't ask that."

"But you wanted to."

"Yes," Gracie admitted. "I wanted to."

"I know we look like the odd couple but it's real, what we have. We're going to last forever."

Gracie didn't bother to tell her that sometimes forever wasn't very long at all.

#

"This is great!" The managing editor, a seen-it-all-type named Doheny, turned away from the computer screen and looked up at Noah. "How'd you come up with this stuff anyway? I wouldn't have figured you for the type."

"Beats me," said Noah and it was the truth. The words seemed to pour from his fingertips like magic. All of the frustrations he had felt with Sophie, his anger toward Gracie, the bittersweet memories hiding around every street corner—they were all there, willing to be transformed into words and phrases meant to move the reader. It wasn't anything like his usual style, which tended toward the brittle and manipulative—pure gold in advertising—but more real, more emotional than anything he had ever written.

"Can you do us up another one for tomorrow?"

He raised his hands and took a step back. "Hey, I'm not looking to take over Mary's job, Doheny. I'm on the other team, remember."

"I was talking with Mary's husband and it doesn't sound like she'll be back any time soon."

"Fine," Noah said. "We'll pull over Eileen or Gregory from the Lifestyle section. I've seen their work. Maybe we could rotate their columns."

"They're both maxed out. Besides, Eileen's going out on maternity leave next week."

"Let me level with you," Noah said as the two men stepped into Doheny's cubicle. "I'm not looking to be a columnist at the Gazette. I have my own job back in London and as soon as we can get this thing sold, I'll be going back to it."

"Great," said Doheny, looking under-enthused, "but that doesn't change things. You want top dollar, you need a strong circulation. It's that simple."

Just hold the fort, Doheny said. Give them a few column inches until they could plug in a replacement for Ann Levine. Noah reluctantly agreed. He'd poured a lot of drivel out onto his keyboard and called it a column. When it came out tomorrow and the cries of outrage from subscribers reached Doheny's ears, he'd see who was right.

He spent the rest of the day in conference with the money men. For a moment, when they talked about the Gazette's illustrious past, he had experienced grave misgivings about the entire process. The Gazette might not look like much at the moment, but there had been a time when it had commanded worldwide respect and, strangely enough, that respect had been largely the result of his father's folksy but powerful editorials. Simon's anti-Vietnam War views had been shocking in those days, the years before even Walter Cronkite was voicing an opinion against the slaughter. Simon had stood alone for peace and he had been noticed. The Gazette office had been fire-bombed twice. Simon had received numerous threats against his life. At one point he had apparently sent Ruth away for her own safety. But still he clung to his beliefs and in time the rest of the country came to see it his way.

The thought of allowing the Gazette to pass out of family hands didn't sit well with Noah and he wasn't quite sure why. He had loved and respected his father but he hadn't liked him very much at the end. There had been a terrible bitterness at the core of Simon's soul, and by the time of his death, that bitterness had spread to his family. Simon had lived a life of privilege and accomplishment. It was difficult to see what he had to be bitter about. There was only one battle he had lost in his sixty-two years of life and that was the battle for the heart of Mona Taylor. You wouldn't think Simon Chase had been the kind of man to carry a forty-two year old torch.

Then again maybe father and son were more alike than Noah cared to