A Man Of Influence. Melinda Curtis
getting.
Tracy had a job search app on her phone. She used it to find two new postings for advertising copywriters in Northern California. A few clicks later and her résumé was submitted.
“Two,” she called to her father, who was tinkering under the hood of his old white farm truck.
He wiped oil from a wrench with a blue cloth. “Are you happy? I won’t be happy until you’re happy.”
“I’d rather be painting,” she grumbled, heading up the drive.
Dad slammed the hood shut. “You know I love you just the way you are.”
Of course he did. But lately, he was like her brother, Will—pushing, trying to set goals for Tracy, wanting her to reach higher. Her family didn’t want her to settle for silence.
Truth be told, Tracy didn’t either. If only getting back on track wasn’t so hard.
She reached the end of the driveway and turned toward the Harmony River bridge and town, pausing to pluck a dandelion from the side of the road. She’d been making wishes on dandelions since she was a girl.
A few minutes later, Tracy leaned on the railing of the bridge and watched the water drift past. That shallow river was like her life. At an all time low and moving slow.
How was she supposed to get a job when she couldn’t string a fluent sentence together out loud?
A faded green Buick pulled up next to her. Mildred rolled down the passenger window in front, her thick glasses nearly resting on her plump pink cheeks. Rose slid across the seat in back and cranked down the other window. Her snow white ballerina chignon had not one hair out of place.
“We’re off to the doctor’s office,” Mildred announced. “Agnes wants to know if you need anything in town.”
Agnes leaned over the center console and waved. “Isn’t Chad wonderful?”
“And he’s not wearing a ring,” Rose sing-songed.
They were trying to fix her up with the wolf in sheep’s clothing? “Not interested. Have you read...his column?”
It was their turn to lack interest.
“A hardworking, good-looking man,” Agnes said. “Who needs to read his column?”
“Don’t set the bar too high,” Mildred advised with a kindly squint in Tracy’s direction. “We don’t get many bachelors your age up here.”
“Better snatch him up quickly.” Rose nodded sagely. “You don’t want to be an old maid.”
“I’m twenty-six.” Hardly over the hill. And certainly not stupid enough to fall for a man who made his living writing a bachelor column.
“We could give you dating pointers.” Agnes chuckled, perhaps realizing how ridiculous Tracy might find that statement. Perhaps not.
The three town council ladies drove away.
If Tracy controlled her aphasia, she’d clue everyone in to Chad’s intentions. If Tracy controlled her aphasia, she’d get out of town. And she needed to get out of town or she’d be an old maid. So she needed to control her aphasia.
She’d been twirling the dandelion. She blew its seeds into the wind and began singing softly. And then louder, forcing the words out, which only made her stumble more.
SOMEONE WAS SINGING the alphabet song. Someone who wasn’t five. Someone who hesitated over the letters.
Recognizing that voice, Chad smiled, quickening his pace as he approached a curve in the road.
She’s not the story.
He ignored the voice that usually guided him to the good stuff.
“Now I know my...ABCs.” There was a pause and then a strangled, “Next time. Won’t you. Sing with me.” Tracy made a frustrated sound and shouted, “Nuts!”
Chad rounded the bend. Tracy was leaning over a rail on a bridge. She had her back to him and gripped the railing as if considering launching herself over it.
“Don’t jump,” he shouted, grinning because he didn’t believe she planned to leap to her doom.
“There is no place...” she hung her head “...private in this town.”
“You could try working on your speech therapy at home.”
“I live above the bakery.” Her cheeks bloomed with color and she shuffled her sneakered feet. She looked as if she wanted to teleport to another dimension. “The walls have ears.”
The bridge was a narrow two-laner with a silver metal railing. It spanned forty feet. Both banks were thick with foliage and trees that created a shady oasis. But in the center of the bridge it was sunny and Tracy’s hair was almost as yellow as the T-shirt beneath her tan jacket.
Again, he recognized this wasn’t the story he needed. Again, he walked toward Tracy, stepping onto the bridge.
She eyed him expectantly, waiting for him to say something.
“You have a nice singing voice.” He should have kept silent. Silence had served him well at the Lampoon. Silence created spaces others rushed to fill. But silence lacked the smiles and laughter and jokes he’d missed. “It’s the truth.” May as well fill the hole he was digging with her with something.
“Truth?” Tracy fixed him with a look that said she recognized what he was filling that hole with. “You introduced yourself as Chad Healy. Not Chad Healy Bostwick.”
“Healy is my legal name. My mom was angry with my dad the day I was born. She left his name off the birth certificate.” And she’d been angry with Dad the day she’d died, furious that he’d never given up cigars and had developed cancer. After reading his father’s last wishes concerning the Lampoon, Chad could understand how she felt.
With a wave of her hand, Tracy let the issue of his name drop. “What are you doing out here? Did Leona kick you out?” She didn’t mince words, but she also didn’t seem to realize her speech had smoothed since her acapella performance.
“No.” He leaned on the railing next to her. “I’m searching for the angle I want to take on my story.” Were there more crotchety people like Leona in town? Did it have more to offer than good coffee and reputedly good wine?
“You? Searching?” So much passion. It radiated from the disbelief in her blue eyes to her expressive hands. He never would’ve guessed all that emotion had been hiding behind the black bakery apron. “Your columns slant one way—one way!” She jabbed her finger at him, stopping just short of poking his shoulder. “You put people down. Is that why you were fired?”
The F-word hit him below the belt and shook his ego at knee level. Nowhere had it been reported he’d been let go. The terms of his leaving were part of his termination contract. Sure, some in the press had speculated he needed time to grieve. But no one had guessed the truth until Tracy. “I still own nearly half the company.” He couldn’t keep the anger from his voice.
His anger didn’t stop her from punching back, saying baldly, “Ownership didn’t stop them from firing you.”
There was a truth for him. “Apparently, my dad wanted to take the Lampoon in a different direction. My services no longer fit what they were looking for.” He hadn’t said it out loud before. The words—though spoken quietly—seemed to ricochet between them like a flat rock bouncing across a smooth river.
“Ahh.” Tracy glanced downstream. “You were phased out.”
“I’m guessing from your tone you’ve experienced this.”
Her sharp nod confirmed it.
“But I bet