Eva's Deadline

Mark shook his head. “You are something else.”

Neither said anything. Mark stared at the floor. Eva crossed her arms and tapped her foot. In one of the cubicles, a phone jangled. Mark finally looked up. “Okay, there is one other possible place for you. We have an extra cubicle that freelancers use. You can park there.”

“Where will the freelancers work?”

“I’ll fix up a corner of Seb’s office. Somebody will get some use out of it.”

“All right.”

Mark led her down the hall to the cubicle. Eva peered at it. About half the size of the one she had at Seattle’s Best, it contained a desk with a computer and a phone and a two-drawer file cabinet. “Pretty basic, isn’t it?”

Mark shrugged. “You had your choice.”

“Okay, now that I have a place to park, as you put it, what am I supposed to do?”

“We need to discuss that. Come on into my office.”

Mark’s office was considerably larger than the cubicles but as simply furnished, with the exception of a high-backed black vinyl desk chair. Her father had had a chair just like that, she remembered. A worktable near the window held a stack of file folders and several books.

He directed Eva to a straight chair on the other side of his desk and then sank into his chair, swiveling around to face her. He picked up a copy of the Herald lying on the desktop. “Seen our latest issue?”

“I glanced at it when I first came in, but I haven’t read it.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve seen any back issues, either.” He picked up a thick file folder.

“Not a one.”

“Didn’t think so.” He slid the newspaper and the folder in her direction. “Take a look. I think you’ll find the paper has changed a lot since you worked here.”

Eva laced her fingers together in her lap and, with studied patience, said, “I never worked here. I helped out summers when I was in high school. Opening the mail, mostly.”

Mark shrugged dismissively. “Whatever.”

Eva picked up the paper. She turned the pages, scanning the headlines: “Local School Board Loses Longtime Member,” “Facts About Home Buying,” “Traffic Increase Prompts Study.”

Bor-ing. Aloud, she said, “Looks like quite a variety of articles.”

“News articles. The Herald reports important happenings around town.”

She met his stern gaze. “What are you trying to say, Mark? That what I write at Seattle’s Best isn’t news? What did you call my writing when we were in Lawrence’s office? ‘Fluff’ pieces?”

“A publication like Seattle’s Best has its place.”

“But obviously a less prestigious place than a newspaper like the Herald.”

Mark shook his head. “I’m not trying to pick a fight. I just wanted to make our mission clear.”

“Trust me, you have,” she said crisply.

Mark cleared his throat. “Getting back to your role here, I figured the closest to what you’ve been writing would be the Our Town column. Notices of club meetings, food drives, activities at the senior center, that sort of thing.”

“Who’s been doing that up to now?”

“One of our freelancers. A sweet lady named June Baker. She was very disappointed when I told her we wouldn’t be needing her anymore.”

“I don’t want to take anyone’s job. Isn’t there something else I can do?”

“Besides the Our Town column? You can help me with the overall layout and editing. And I’m sure we’ll find some other tasks to keep you busy.”

Eva raised an eyebrow. “So that’s the main objective—keeping me busy?”

Mark ran a hand through his hair. “Come on, Eva. This is tough for both of us. You’ve given me the impression you don’t want to become involved while you’re here, that you’re only marking time until your year is over.” He studied her closely. “Am I off base on that?”

Eva looked away. “No, you’re not.”

“I’m trying to make the year as easy for you as I can. You want some other assignment, okay, you pick it.”

“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll do the column.”

They spent the next few minutes going over various routines and procedures. At last, Mark leaned back and said, “That about covers it. Any questions?”

“No. I’ll go to my cubicle now.”

“June’s files are all there. They should help you get in the groove.”

Before she could make her escape, voices sounded in the hallway, and a little girl burst into the room. Except for her white sandals, she was dressed all in pink: blouse, skirt and tights. Looped over one arm was a pink plastic purse with a large daisy stuck to the side.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Arms outstretched, she ran to Mark.

He swiveled away from his desk just in time for her to jump into his lap. “Hey, sweetheart! I didn’t expect a visit from you today.”

An older woman, presumably Sasha’s caretaker, hurried into the office. “We’re on our way to our ballet lesson,” she said. “And she insisted on visiting first. She’s her daddy’s girl, that one.”

“I’m always glad to see my girl.” Mark bestowed a kiss on the child’s forehead.

Eva had little experience with children, but judging by her impression of Sasha at Seb’s memorial, the child was a charmer. She obviously had her father twisted around her little finger.

Eileen turned to Eva. “Your first day on the job, I bet. I’m Eileen.”

Eva smiled. “Nice to meet you. I’m Eva.”

“Heard you rented Lola Halsey’s place. Seems strange, when you could be staying in Seb’s house.”

Eileen reached up to her topknot and adjusted the chopsticks, or whatever they were, that were stuck through it.

“I’ll be getting the house ready to put on the market,” Eva said.

“If you need an agent, see Morgan’s Realty on Main Street. Jeb’s my cousin. Tell him I sent you.”