Chapter Three:

I stared at the numbers on my screen. I didn’t know how Grandpa did it. How was the paper still operating with the rising costs? He had kept the subscription prices low and hadn’t raised subscription rates in over ten years. We hadn’t been losing readers as so many other local papers had. Even so, we were so close to the barely profitable. I knew what would happen if I had to raise prices just to cover the growing delivery bill. For some people, two or three dollars a month would really hurt them, but I didn’t see any alternative. Our finances were tight, too tight.

A knock at the door interrupted my gloomy thoughts. I needed a break and maybe a hug from Tammy. I opened my door, expecting to see Tammy, but to my surprise, Casey was there instead. Quickly, I schooled my thoughts. Not the reprieve I was hoping for, I mused. But still, a verbal sparring with Casey was a break from the mess I had been perusing for over two hours. I groaned at the thought of more financial reports.

“What are you doing here?” My mind scrambled to recall my appointments for the day. “I’m pretty sure we don’t have an appointment,” I said this with more assurance than I felt. And judging by the tightening of Casey’s mouth, I’d said the wrong thing. Again. It shocked me when his voice stayed calm, making comments about Grandpa’s open-door policy, as I waited for his anger to boil over on me once more.

My mind went back to my conversation with Grandpa from the night before. I needed perspective on how to deal with Casey. And Grandpa had been having a good day. It had surprised me when he’d said, “Slow ‘im ta file!”

Needing to confirm what he’d said, I asked, “You want me to show Casey the file of PT’s articles?”

Grandpa nodded his head, “Yeth.”

“Do you think it will make a difference?”

“If ‘e’s who I think ‘e is, yeth.”

“Thank you, Grandpa. I’m so glad I can get advice from you.” I lightly kissed his left cheek as I held back the tears that were now always ready to fill my eyes. My once formidable and invincible grandfather had been betrayed and was fighting to be the man he had always been. Only this time, his battle wasn’t to uncover the truth but with his own body. I reached down to scratch Clarence’s head. The graying Lab thumped his tail at my touch and some of my tension drained away.

“Is everything okay?”

Casey’s question brought her defenses to the fore. Did he know about the paper’s financial situation? She lashed out, “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?” She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you here, anyway? What do you want?””

He held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I only asked because I’m concerned about Theo. I wasn’t trying to pry.”

He wasn’t going to make this easy. “You didn’t answer my question. What do you want?”

When he mentioned getting off on the wrong foot, she couldn’t hold back her retort, “Wrong foot?” She knew she was coming across as snarky, but her head was pounding from all the numbers that she’d dealt with. A quick glance at her watch showed it wasn’t even 10 a.m. Today was going to last forever! She thought before returning her focus to Casey’s words. When he mentioned P.T. Thorn, she knew Grandpa had been right. She needed to show Casey the file. But she could never admit who she was. That was too personal. She couldn’t reveal her heart and soul to him, not yet.

“You say you ‘admire P.T. Thorn’s work.’ Did you ever wonder how P.T. became the reporter you aspire to be?” I looked up from my desk to watch Casey. “My Grandfather demanded rewrites of all of P.T.’s earliest articles.”

Walking across the room, I pulled out the middle drawer of the filing cabinet. Removing a large bulging file, I returned to my desk and slid the file to the middle of the desk before sitting back in my grandfather’s well-worn chair.

He watched me, his eyes silently questioning what I wanted from him. Tapping the folder, “Read it through. You’ll see I’m not that different from my grandfather. He could be a harsh critic of others’ work, but it instilled a drive to exceed his expectations. This file,” my voice cracked, but I ignored it, “includes the first two years of P.T.’s articles with every single comment or note that Grandpa wrote on the rough draft of P.T.’s first article. Study it and get a feel for how he would have handled your recent articles.”

“Why are you giving me this now?” Casey hastened to add, “I know why, we’ve been talking about P.T. But I would think this would be private.” His eyes met mine.

I broke contact. I couldn’t watch him as I answered. “You asked me about Grandpa. He’s not the man he was. The stroke changed him. Not just physically, but in other little ways. He has trouble talking. The stroke has affected the left side of his body, causing his words to become slurred. And he mixes up words- what he says isn’t what he means. It frustrates him. Sometimes, he’s depressed. Other times, he’s just angry.” Casey shifted in his chair. “I get it. I’d be angry or depressed, too. He’s trapped in a body that betrayed him.”

“I’ve never thought of a stroke in that way before,” Casey interrupted me, his voice thick with emotion.

I nodded. “I try to talk shop with Grandpa every night. I want him to feel needed. It gives him a break from his physical and speech therapy. Last night, we were talking about the current situation,” I gestured between us. “He said to share the file. There must be something he thinks you’ll get out of them. I don’t know exactly what he thinks you’ll find. Maybe it’s something only you will see.” Standing, I pushed the file towards him. “Take care of this file, and don’t let anyone else look at it. Consider this a ‘your eyes only’ file. As you said, it is private.”

Taking the file, he stood. “I promise to take care of this file, Phoebe.” Turning, he left my office, and I could only hope I didn’t look as exposed as I felt and that he didn’t discover the truth that the file guarded.

Today’s lasted forever! I mentally groaned. I never thought sitting at a desk all day could be so exhausting. A new appreciation for Grandpa’s years of work grew in my mind. The thought of years of this nearly made me groan again as I stretched. My back and neck were not happy after so many hours staring at the computer. I needed to get ahead of all this tedious work and then make a schedule so I wouldn’t spend the rest of my days behind this desk. I needed to report, to write. Words were my joy, and I couldn’t let the day-to-day operations steal that from me.

I glanced out the window. There was still enough light I could get in a quick run. The release it would bring would help. And then, I could reward myself with a visit to the shelter before heading home.

My run had left me sweaty, but the walk to the shelter had cooled my skin. The dogs wouldn’t mind that I hadn’t showered first. Hopefully, whoever was still working wouldn’t either. I smiled as I pictured my unprofessional appearance. I hoped Sarah would be working. She was used to my random visits, squeezing them in whenever I had a free moment.

Pushing open the door, I spotted Sarah almost immediately. “Evening, Sarah. I’m sorry I haven’t been in since I’ve been back.”

“That’s fine, Phoebe. I know you’ve had your hands full with your grandfather and the newspaper.” Sarah looked me over before smiling, “So, how’s Clarence?”

“Clarence is good.  I’m so glad you talked Grandpa into adopting him. I think he’s just what Grandpa needs. I know having him around is helping me stay sane. Rubbing him is the best stress reliever I know!” Just thinking about the old Lab lifted my spirits.

“So is this just a catchup visit? Or are you here to see the dogs?” Sarah’s lips quirked as she turned towards the dog wing.

“You know me too well.” I smiled back at this dear friend. “So, who’s your oldest resident?”

“That would be Cocoa.”

“Let me guess, Cocoa is chocolate colored?”

“Yes, she’s a five-pound Chihuahua.”

“So, what’s her story?”

“Cocoa’s owner passed away two weeks ago. The next day, his family dropped her off. She’d been locked-up in the house all day and had an “accident” in the house. The family was worried keeping her in the house would lower the resale value of the house. And no one had the time or inclination to open their home to their dad’s heartbroken dog.”

“Poor baby! Can I see her? Sounds like Cocoa needs an extra dose of love.”

“She definitely needs it. She’s fourteen years old and has lost everything,” Sarah confided. “I’m worried about her. She doesn’t want to eat. Thankfully, the family left her collar on. We called her vet and got her records. That’s how we found out her name and her history. Her owner was an elderly man who had owned Cocoa her entire life. He also owned her mother. She has a few health issues that can be controlled with medication. But if we can’t get her to eat, the issues could get worse. Nothing is serious, but that, combined with her age, is a strike against her getting adopted.”

My heart seized; I could imagine the pain and confusion she must be experiencing.

“Here she is,” Sarah unlocked the door to the farthest kennel. “She hasn’t connected with any of the other dogs yet. Until she does, we are kenneling her separately at night.”

I reached out my hand but stopped just short of her nose. “Hello, Baby,” I murmured.

Cocoa hesitantly sniffed my outreached hand before tentatively licking it.

“That’s the first time she’s done that since she’s been here,” Sarah said in a voice little more than a whisper.

“Can I hold her?” I wanted nothing more than to comfort the small, trembling body.

Silently, Sarah handed her over, and I pulled her close, cradling her in my arms. Tears filled my eyes as she snuggled her head into my neck. How many other dogs and cats suffered a similar trauma daily? I knew what P.T. Thorn’s next article would be.

“I want Cocoa, Sarah. What do you need from me to make it happen?” The Thorsonville Tribune was going to have a new employee.

That night, I fell asleep with a tiny body tucked into my side.